


where the wild things are

by elizaham8957



Series: find me where the wild things are [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Camping, F/M, Fluff, Ghost is instafamous, Humor, Mild Smut, Modern AU, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Romance, Slow Burn, also just realized I never tagged this but, and Jon Snow knows nothing (about social media), and here we are!, and hopefully will erase the pain of that finale, anyways this should be light and fluffy and fun, but then I gave Jon emotional baggage and Dany workaholic tendencies, mentions of Robb/Talisa Arya/Gendry and Missandei/Grey Worm, one multichapter fic later, this was originally gonna be short and sweet, very romcom-esque tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2020-03-10 01:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 190,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18928399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen has fought tooth and nail to get to the high-ranking position she has at Tyrell Outdoor Recreational Equipment, Inc, doing everything within her power to help the planet along the way.Jon Snow has a dog with over two million instagram followers, despite the fact that he can't figure out how to work the app to save his life.When sales drop enough to threaten Tyrell's environment-saving programs, Daenerys is determined to find influencers that can turn the tides for her company.And she has her eye on Jon. Or, well— technically, Ghost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends!
> 
> So yes, I'm still wildly upset about how season 8 ended, and no, I don't anticipate being over it anytime soon. HOWEVER! Even though I'm still real mad about how terribly Dany (and Jon, tbh, but mostly Dany) were treated by the writers this season, I still love these two and think they deserve all the happiness. So, modern aus it is, am I right? 
> 
> I have no idea how many chapters this will be (for once in my life I'm posting something as I write it instead of waiting till I finish it?? Hopefully that doesn't come back to bite me in the ass.) This started as something really light and silly and then got slightly more depth as I kept adding things to it. (I thought I was gonna be able to write something without giving these two semi terrible things in their pasts, but clearly I failed at that.) Regardless, this is pretty rom-com-esque, I think, and should be light and fun and nothing like Thrones at ALL, and I've been having a blast writing it. (Working on the actual story has ALMOST been as fun as making the moodboards and fake instagram posts for each chapter, which I am terrible at, but which are still super enjoyable to create, lol. There is definitely a reason I am an engineer and not a graphic designer.) 
> 
> Also— in this story, Jon runs an instagram for his dog Ghost, which is based off of [this account here.](https://www.instagram.com/loki/) If you are a dog person (which I definitely am) go check it out! They post gorgeous photos and the pup is SUCH a good boy. Would highly recommend following. 12/10. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you like this, and I would love to know what you think! I will be back with a new chapter soon, hopefully. I am stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter as well!! Enjoy!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/47932171291/in/dateposted-public/)

 

Despite the fact that the workday started about an hour ago, Dany is already fucking _exhausted._

She finishes off her second cup of coffee of the day as she maneuvers her way through the rows of desk cubicles, scrolling though her work phone to catch up on the emails she had received during her 8 a.m. meeting. With a groan, she opens the one Loras had just forwarded her, knowing that it will need her attention as soon as her next appointment is dealt with.

As the head of PR for Tyrell Outdoor Recreational Equipment, Inc, Dany spends almost every minute of her day juggling endless meetings, relentless phone calls, and solving every problem that seems to arise for the company. “Head of Public Relations” does not _entirely_ describe the breadth of her role, as she basically helps the CEO, Olenna, and her two grandchildren run their entire business. It’s exhausting work, but also rewarding, and in addition to their commitment to only using ethical labor and manufacturing processes, Tyrell’s staunch dedication to using their business and products to preserve the environment and inspire love for their beautiful planet keep Dany going when she feels like falling apart from the stress of it all.

She finally reaches her destination, the Tyrell logo etched into the frosted glass of Olenna’s office, their slogan, “helping the planet grow strong,” emblazoned below the rose blooming from the center of the earth. She knocks briefly on the door, before Olenna’s voice rings out, bidding her to enter.

“Good morning,” Dany says, placing her now empty coffee cup on the edge of Olenna’s desk before shuffling her laptop and phone in her lap. She’ll have to stop by the breakroom on her way back so that she can refill the tumbler, she muses, still completely bone tired from yet another week of working overtime.

“Good morning, dear,” Olenna says, sharp eyes snapping away from whatever is on her monitor.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Dany says, jumping right to the point— gods know she has enough work to get to afterwards.

“Yes, I did,” Olenna says, folding her hands in front of her on her desk. “I know you and Loras have been working on the end of the summer products advertisement with our brand ambassadors.”

“Yes,” Dany answers, opening her laptop to pull up the email. “I thought I had copied you on that. The last round of products were just sent out yesterday, and I know marketing followed up on the image we wanted to portray with each item—”

“You did copy me, don’t worry,” Olenna says with a wave of her hand. “That’s not why we’re here.”

Dany’s eyebrows furrow, fingers freezing over her keyboard. “It’s not?” she asks. “Is this about the fall and winter collections, then? We’ve gotten signed contracts back from eight of the nine athletes and influencers we reached out to, and the last one should be coming in today.” She rolls her eyes at the thought of the pompous athlete they’re signing for the season— she’d been through _three_ rounds of budget meetings with both finance and the athlete’s lawyers before reaching an agreement he would sign on. But it will be good for the brand, so the endless debates had been worth it, she supposes.

“It’s partly about that,” Olenna says. “The board had a meeting with marketing and the global outreach team, and they have concluded that we cannot continue to donate to national parks and preserves in the next quarter at our usual rate.”

Dany’s heart stops.

“What?” she whispers, her voice caught in her throat. “Why not? Environmental activism is the _basis_ of Tyrell— how can they expect us to freeze that portion of the company? That goes against all our principles.”

“Believe me, I’m not happy about it either,” Olenna says, and Dany can hear the bitterness in the old woman’s voice. “But numbers, unfortunately, do not lie. Profits are down, and unless they pick up significantly, we will not be able to continue doing the work for the environment we currently do.”

“So how do we fix this?” Dany says immediately, mind already whirring. There must be _something_ they can do— shift marketing strategies, expand product lines— something. “Why are profits down so much?”

“People aren’t going outdoors anymore,” Olenna says bitterly. “We are catering to a dying business, or so marketing has told me.” She pauses, folding her hands on the desk again. “However, they do have a plan to help encourage people to get outside and enjoy the beauty of nature.”

“What is it?” she asks, fingers clenching her laptop.

“Oh, something very complex, with more parts than they think I can keep track of,” Olenna says, with a roll of her eyes. Dany has to laugh at that as well— Olenna is the sharpest woman she has ever met, and she admires the CEO greatly, as the older woman has acted as the tough mentor Dany needed in her quest to climb to the top for most of her career here with Tyrell. “They are still getting approval for most of them, working out others with the other teams, but they have one that is rather straightforward, and I want you to handle it.”

“Of course,” Dany says without thinking, pushing the piles of work for _other_ parts of the business from her mind. “What is it?”

“They want us to add another endorsement for the fall and winter.”

Dany blinks. “Really? That’s it?” She looks at Olenna, perplexed. “I can have that handled by the end of today. Who is it? Another athlete?” They have quite a few Olympians in the repertoire for the winter already, after Westeros’s success at the Games in February.

“Not exactly,” Olenna says, before swivelling her screen so that Dany can see what is on it.

She freezes, taken aback, because it is _not_ at all what she had been expecting.

Olenna’s screen shows an instagram account, full of breathtakingly beautiful photos of nature, in places that must be all over the country— but there’s no people in the photos. Instead, there’s a great, white dog.

“Olenna,” Dany says, brows furrowed. “Uh… that’s a dog.”

“I’m aware,” Olenna says, her lips pulling into a perturbed grimace. “Marketing insisted.”

Dany shakes her head, still confused. “They want a _dog_ to endorse our products?”

“Not exactly,” Olenna says. “This is a dog, yes. But this dog has an owner. And this owner takes this dog hiking and exploring all over Westeros.”

“So we’re sponsoring the owner?” Dany clarifies. Olenna nods.

“People love dogs. People _have_ dogs. Marketing thinks that if we have this account use our equipment, and talk about it on instagram, as well as participate in outreach programs and giveaways, people will be inspired to get out in nature with _their_ dogs.” Olenna shakes her head dismissively. “I’m not sure if I believe them, but I’m willing to try anything to save the principles my company was built on.”

Dany nods, understanding completely. “Of course. I will as well.” She opens her laptop back up, copying down the account’s name. As long as she can get in contact with the human behind the page, this shouldn’t be _too_ monumental of a task.

Hopefully.

***

“She wants our new sponsor to be _who?”_ Missandei asks, her perfect brows furrowing as she stares at Dany’s screen.

“Not Olenna,” Dany corrects with a roll of her eyes. “Marketing. They think this will help boost sales.”

Missandei hesitates, expression skeptical. “Does marketing think that dogs are going to buy our products?”

Dany snorts in laughter, sharing a smile with her assistant. “They think people who _own_ dogs will buy our products.”

“I still don’t see how having a dog’s social media account as a spokesperson will help us raise profits,” Missandei says, sipping her latte. Dany shrugs, turning back to the instagram profile on her computer.

“He has over two million followers,” Dany says, nodding towards the screen. _Adventures_of_Ghost_ sprawls across the top of the page, next to a photo of a snowy white dog as big as a wolf standing on the edge of a magnificent cliff. “And he is a beautiful dog.”

“Let me see?” Missandei says, rolling a chair to the other side of Dany’s desk, sitting cross legged next to her friend. Dany slides the mouse over, letting the other woman scroll through the instagram profile.

She can see why marketing would want to have this account as a spokesperson, she supposes. Clearly they have a large platform with many followers, most of whom are probably normal people with normal lives. And the entire account is all gorgeous photos of the dog out in the wilderness, all over the country, it seems. There are photos of Ghost in the snowy tundra of the North, the lush green forests of the Riverlands, the rocky beaches out west, even in the desert mountains right before Dorne. Whoever runs the account clearly has a knack for photography— the account captures the beauty and wonder of their world, of all nature has to offer, while still featuring the great snowy white dog.

“What type of dog is that?” Missandei asks, clicking on a photo of Ghost and another dog, this one silver and white, of the same size. Both of them sit next to a truck in the rocky mountains just west of Storm’s End, and their heads are almost even with the bed of the truck.

“The bio says he’s a low content wolfdog,” Dany reads off, raising her eyebrows. That would explain his enormous size. He does look like a wolf, too, a little more wild looking than a typical husky. Still, there are a myriad of photos of him smiling lazily at the camera, paws buried deep in snow and tongue lolling out, like there is nowhere in the world he’d rather be.

“There’s no link to a personal account?” Missandei asks, eyes scanning the screen. Dany shakes her head— other than his bio, which states he’s a low content wolfdog out exploring the world, trailed by a little paw print emoji, there’s no reference to the human who must run this account.

“There might be pictures of them,” Dany says, taking the mouse back and scrolling down. It’s mostly all pictures of the dog, occasionally with the hand of the photographer buried in his fur, but Dany sees no people present.

“Wait, that one!” Missandei says, pointing. Dany clicks on the photo her friend had spotted, and her brows raise as it expands.

The location on the photo reads Kingswood National Park, and Dany recognizes the tall green pines and rocky mountains from the various shoots and promotions they’ve done there, as it’s the closest national park to their office in King’s Landing. The beautiful landscape of the picture, though, is overshadowed greatly by Ghost, white fur shining in the sunlight, his eyes closed and tongue lolling happily as a man presses a kiss to his head, kneeling down with an arm slung around the dog. There’s no doubt from the photo, from the intimacy and clear love between man and dog, that this is his owner.

“He’s _hot,”_ Missandei says, and Dany laughs.

“You can barely see his face, Dei,” Dany argues, but she can hardly help but agree. The man in the photo has most of his face buried in his dog’s fur, but what she can see is quite attractive, a dark beard covering his jawline, the top half of his raven curls pulled back into a low bun. Dany generally doesn’t like man buns, but this guy pulls it off quite well.

“I don’t need to see his face,” Missandei says. “Look at his _arms.”_

Dany laughs, throwing a scandalized look at Missandei. “You have a _boyfriend,_ don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, seeing as Dany has met Grey many times, but Missandei laughs anyways, shaking her head. Glancing back at the screen, Dany notices her friend is right— his arms are well defined under that dark henley he’s wearing, muscles flexing as his hand rests against the stone of the mountain they sit on.

“I can have a boyfriend and still have _eyes,”_ Missandei argues, reclaiming the mouse. “Oh gods, look at this one.”

Dany feels her mouth go dry at the new photo on the screen, beautiful snowcapped mountains doused in golden light on display in the background, the man on his knees in the snow, Ghost’s enormous paws on his shoulders. But she can see his face in this, the laughter on his lips at his dog’s antics. His eyes are crinkled with joy, his hair tied back again, that dark scruff incapable of hiding his sharp jawline. He is _very_ attractive, that fact is undeniable.

“Dany!” Missandei practically gasps, opening a third photo— a throwback, clearly, by the caption and the picture. Ghost is but a puppy in it, his too big paws sticking out awkwardly as the man holds him up. His owner looks younger too, his beard not as full, his dark curls loose around his face. Dany feels her heart thump, her gaze falling to his eyes, a beautiful shade of warm dark brown. They’re the type of eyes you could get lost in, framed by unfairly gorgeous lashes, wide with awe as he looks at his young dog.

“Gods, look at his _eyes,”_ Missandei says, and Dany nods automatically. She’s currently a little trapped in them herself. “They’re red!”

“Huh?” Dany asks, glancing at her friend in confusion before turning back to the screen, taking in the picture again. Dany’s eyes land on Ghost, and realizes that Missandei was speaking of the _dog,_ now noticing his dark red irises.

“He must be an albino,” Dany says, eyes flitting back to the man. Gods, it feels stupid to have a racing heart over a picture of a stranger on the internet, but there is something about this man that makes her stomach flip.

“Well, I agree with Olenna now,” Missandei says, nodding definitively. “We need him to be a spokesperson.”

Dany huffs in laughter. “It wouldn’t be him, it would be Ghost,” she corrects her friend. “And anyways, we don’t even know if he _wants_ to be sponsored. I have to reach out and contact him first.”

“Lucky you,” Missandei says, standing up and grabbing her latte. “But if you’re the one doing the convincing, he’ll say yes. You are _exceptionally_ good at your job.”

Dany shakes her head, rolling her eyes at her friend. “Oh, stop it. Don’t you have work to be doing?”

“Unfortunately,” Missandei says, taking her laptop as well. “Keeping your day coordinated is altogether _exhausting.”_ She flashes her friend a smile. “Speaking of, don’t forget about your 11 am with Margaery and digital. And if you need to do any more research on our newest spokesperson, please don’t hesitate to ask for my help.”

Dany laughs as her friend makes her way towards the door, back to the cube situated right outside Dany’s office. “You are so dedicated to your work.”

“Always,” Missandei says, with a graceful, placating smile. “Will that be all, Miss Targaryen?”

Dany laughs again, the corner of her friend’s mouth quirking up as well at her false formality. “Oh, go,” she jokes, shooing Missandei from her office with one last grin. She turns back to her computer, the picture of Ghost and his owner still up, both of them together making her heart thump.

With a decisive click, she closes the picture, returning to the profile information and hitting “message” instead. She can’t let wayward thoughts about a pretty face distract her. She has work to do.

***

“Ghost, _no.”_

The great white dog does not take kindly to Jon’s scolding, cocking his head to the side and whimpering, like he’s some pup instead of a hundred pound beast.

“It’s not for you,” Jon says apologetically, flipping the steak in the pan. Ghost sighs, laying down across the kitchen floor, resting his head upon his paws pathetically.

“Gods, you’d think I never feed you or somethin’,” Jon grumbles, stepping over his dog to get to the sink. “You just ate dinner, boy.”

The smell of freshly cooking steak is apparently enough to make Ghost forget he’s already been fed, because he whines again, eyes trained on the stove. Jon sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He loves his dog more than anything, but anytime he tries to cook meat, he gets guilt tripped beyond belief.

“Arya!” he calls out into the living room, opening the fridge to grab out the gravy. “Come get Ghost out of the kitchen before he eats your dinner.”

“Who says he’d eat _my_ steak?” his sister says, appearing in the doorway silently. Jon swears she’s part wolf or something, because the silent way she moves is _completely_ unnerving. “We haven’t laid claim to them yet, have we? It could be Sansa’s.”

“I don’t bloody care whose steak it is, just get him out of here,” Jon says, waving at the dishes littering the counter as he tries to finish cooking. _Tries_ being key. Seven hells, it’s times like this where he wishes Sam had never moved out, his best friend _much_ more skilled in the kitchen than he’ll ever be.

“Poor boy,” Arya says, kneeling next to Ghost’s head and stroking his snowy white ears. “Is Jon being mean to you?”

“I just fed him!” Jon argues, although he can’t help the grin that creeps onto his face, Arya laughing at him as she continues to stroke Ghost. His huge tail thuds against the ground happily, Jon carefully sidestepping it so that he can get to the other end of the counter.

“You should put a picture of this on his instagram story,” Arya says, looking up at him. “He looks so sad that he can’t have a steak. People will love it.”

“Go ahead,” Jon says, glancing between the pot he’s pouring the gravy into and the steaks still sizzling on the burner. “My phone’s on the counter. I think.”

Arya rolls her eyes at him, though he thinks she should know just how technologically unadvanced he is by now. She returns a second later with his phone, snapping a picture of Ghost across the kitchen floor before disappearing back into the living room again. “Arya!” he calls, exasperated. “The dog!”

“Ghost, come here,” Arya’s voice echoes from the other room, and Ghost gets up with a great sigh, following the sound of his sister’s voice out of the kitchen.

Not even two seconds later the doorbell buzzes, and Jon winces, waiting for the onslaught of barking sure to echo from the living room. “Is that Robb?” Sansa calls over Ghost’s howling, Jon just catching sight of a great flash of white bounding down the hallway.

“Should be,” he calls back, turning the burner on under the gravy to heat it up. “Wasn’t expectin’ anyone else.” He hears the door open, the sounds of his eldest brother’s voice drifting down the hallway as Ghost’s barks change from threatening to excited. Robb appears in the kitchen doorway a moment later, his auburn curls windblown, jacket still on.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, entering the room to give Jon a quick, bracing hug. “Talisa got caught up at work; I didn’t want to leave until I made sure she was alright for the night.”

“She’s only six months pregnant, Robb,” Sansa says as she appears from the hall, shooting her brother an amused smirk. “I’m sure she’s very capable of taking care of herself for one evening.”

Jon chuckles, giving Sansa a look. “If he’s this bad now, imagine what it’ll be like once the baby’s born. How long do you think it’ll take Talisa to strangle him?”

“Alright, very funny,” Robb says, eyes narrowing, although there’s a smile on his lips. Jon can’t help but laugh, sliding the finished steaks out of the pan and onto a plate.

“Impending fatherhood truly changes people,” Arya says, appearing at her brother’s elbow. Robb rolls his eyes, but he grins anyways, pulling his youngest sister into a hug. Her eyes snap to Jon, his phone still in her hand. “Can Ghost come back in the kitchen now? Or are you still set on punishing him?”

“Seven hells, Arya, _you_ can host family dinner next time then,” Jon says, exasperated. “Are you telling me Nymeria _never_ begs when you’re trying to cook?”

“Never,” Arya says gravely, shaking her head. “My dog is well behaved.”

Jon just rolls his eyes at that, turning the light off underneath the gravy, hopefully now warm. “Dinner’s ready,” he says, pouring the gravy into a fresh dish. His siblings all spring to action, grabbing the rest of the food and drinks and bringing them to the table in the other room. Jon follows behind them, steaks in hand, shaking his head affectionately when he sees Ghost, laying in the hall right outside the doorway, eyes full of hope.

“I’m sorry, boy,” he tells him quietly, watching Ghost’s tail thump against the hardwood. “I’ll make you steak soon, alright?”

Ghost ambles after him to the kitchen table, curling up at the foot of it, presumably to watch for anything that might drop to the floor. Jon hands out steaks to his siblings before taking a seat next to Sansa, accepting the bowl of potatoes she was trying to pass him.

They all catch up as they eat— Sansa tells them about her law program, which she’s almost done with, Arya updates them on her ongoing apartment hunting, which she and her boyfriend Gendry have been at for the past month, and Robb shows them all pictures of the nursery he and Talisa had finally finished. Jon listens as he chews his steak, content to be surrounded by his family again. Generally crowds of people make him uneasy, bring back memories of a past he’d rather not remember, but his siblings are the exception to that rule. Being with all of them, as loud as unruly as the lot can be, makes a fragile peace settle over him— a feeling that he tries to savor when he can.

“So of course, _just_ after we finish getting the crib together, Mother calls and asks if we still have a guest room in the house, and if she and Father and Rickon can borrow it for a long weekend,” Robb says, rolling his eyes. Sansa laughs at her brother, fingers weaving through Ghost’s fur as he rests his head in her lap. Jon gives his dog a stern look, but Ghost’s red eyes just peer back innocently, as if he has no idea he’s doing something wrong.

“Be glad that Edd moved in as soon as Sam moved out, and _you_ don’t have a spare room anymore,” Robb tells Jon, fixing him with a pointed look. “Where are your roommates, anyways?”

“Grenn’s at work, Pyp is at Sam’s, helping him with the baby while Gilly’s out, and Edd is at a bar somewhere, hidin’ from you lot,” Jon lists off. Arya scoffs, making a face.

“More likely hiding from your attempts to cook a full meal,” she insists, before turning to Robb, not even giving Jon time to defend his cooking. He thinks the steak came out fairly decent, anyways.

“Why are Mother and Father coming for a weekend?” Arya asks Robb. “Father hates King’s Landing.”

“Rickon is looking at universities,” Robb says, and Jon sighs, still unbelieving at how _old_ their youngest brother has become. Well, cousin, for him, technically, though he’s always thought of the Starks as his siblings; Ned Stark has always felt more like his father than the parents he never knew.

“That’s my one regret for not going to school in the North,” Sansa says, dipping her head briefly. “I feel like I missed half of Rickon growing up.” In her lap, Ghost shifts his head, and Sansa smiles sweetly at him before giving him a piece of her steak, which he gobbles up instantly.

Jon shakes his head, biting back a laugh at the satisfied look on his dog’s face. “And you wonder why he begs any time I cook anythin’.”

Arya laughs, shaking her head at him. “Did you post that picture of him?” Jon asks, and Arya nods, picking up his phone, which she still has, apparently.

“I was right,” she says, showing him the instagram story she’d posted on Ghost’s account. “Everyone loved it. You keep getting messages about it.”

“I keep getting what?” Jon says, brow furrowing. People can message him on instagram? “You mean like comments?”

“No, Jon, it’s different,” Sansa says, rolling her eyes. “When someone responds to your story, it comes through as a private message.”

“Here, I’ll show you,” Arya says, tapping at something on his phone, before her brow furrows.

“What?” he asks, his sister’s eyes scanning his phone screen silently.

“Seven hells, Jon, don’t you ever look at your messages? You have almost four hundred requests here.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Jon spits back, frustrated. “I know how to post the bloody photos and that’s it. Anythin’ else I have no idea.”

Sansa snorts next to him, giving Ghost another piece of her steak. “I think you must be the only person on this _planet_ that has over two million instagram followers and doesn’t _actually_ know how to use instagram.”

“It’s not me, it’s him,” Jon says, jerking his head towards the dog. “I know how to take the pictures. That’s all I do.”

“I know, because every time I see you, I have to fix something for you,” Arya rebuts. Her fingers freeze over the screen, her brow furrowing.

“Jon?” she asks, and he looks up, meeting her gaze. “Why do you have an unread message from the official account of Tyrell on here?”

“From who?” Sansa asks, taking a bite of her steak for herself, for a change. Robb and Arya both look at her like she’s an idiot, making her narrow her eyes at them in a death stare that Jon typically tries to avoid being on the receiving end of.

“Tyrell Outdoor Recreation Equipment,” Robb says, cutting his meat. “You know? The huge outdoors brand that makes all that hiking and sporting stuff?”

“I don’t, but it’s irrelevant,” Sansa says, shaking her head. “Why are they messaging Jon?”

Arya pauses, evidently skimming the message, before her eyes go wide. “They want you to be a spokesperson for their upcoming fall and winter product lines!”

Jon blinks, feeling even _more_ confused. “What?” he says, eyes darting between Arya and Robb. “Why me?”

“Because you are an _influencer_ on social media with a high reach potential,” Arya says, gleeful. “Gods, look at us. Our brother, a social media _influencer.”_

“That’s enough,” Jon says, making a face at her. “Can I have my phone back?”

“Why, are you going to respond?” Robb asks. Jon frowns, peering at the message Arya had just described to him.

“Of course I’m going to respond. It’d be rude not to,” he reasons. His fingers hover over the keyboard, suddenly frozen. “Er, what do I say?”

“Say you’ll do it,” Arya says, levelling him with a look that suggests he’s being an idiot.

“I can’t just say I’ll do it,” Jon protests. “I have no idea what this even _means._ I can’t just… blindly agree to somethin’ like this.”

“What else does the message say?” Sansa asks, holding out her hand for his phone. Jon hands it over wordlessly, absentmindedly stroking Ghost’s head as his dog comes to sit between him and Sansa.

“I would love to set up a meeting to discuss the details of the sponsorship. Please let me know what you think and if you have any other questions. Best, Daenerys Targaryen, head of Public Relations,” Sansa reads, before handing the phone back. Jon just looks at it, at the message still on display on his screen.

“So?” he asks his siblings, eyes darting between them all. “What should I do?”

“Meet with her,” Robb says. “What harm could it do? And if it sounds good, you’ll probably get a lot of free hiking gear for your adventures with Ghost.”

Jon exhales, considering that possibility. Hiking gear is _expensive,_ and gods know that he doesn’t exactly have lots of money laying around. It would be nice to get some high quality equipment for free.

“Alright,” he says, glancing back and forth between his siblings, eyes finding Sansa’s look of approval, Arya’s slight nod. “I’ll meet with her.”

***

Dany blinks sleepily as she stares at her laptop screen, fighting to keep awake for just a _little_ longer. She just has to finish reviewing these last few press releases, send the final couple emails she didn’t get to today— and then, _then_ she can go to sleep. Still, the words in the document she’s reading grow blurry, out of focus as her bleary eyes stare at the screen. She shakes her head, sitting up straighter, trying to wake herself up more.

The empty wine glass on the coffee table in front of her probably isn’t helping things, but. It had been a hellishly long day.

Drogon leaps up onto the couch, as if sensing his mother’s weariness, and picks his way gracefully across the rumpled throw blanket next to her, settling in her lap. Dany smiles, a hand immediately lowering to sink into her cat’s silky black fur, scratching right behind his ears. He mewls plaintively at her when she with withdraws her hand, reaching for the keyboard on her laptop again.

“I know, love,” she murmurs, unable to bite back a laugh as Drogon stretches across half the keyboard, adding a smattering of random letters to the press release she has to finish up. “You are so needy,” she informs the cat, who just peers back at her with his big, golden eyes. “Your brothers are nowhere near this attention seeking.” Rhaegal and Viserion are probably already curled up in her bed, fast asleep, as they always do when she works late at home.

She finally finishes up the press release, saving the document before minimizing the page. She blinks in surprise as photos of Ghost suddenly fill her screen again, the instagram profile from earlier still open on her laptop.

Dany sighs, scrolling down through the page aimlessly. She’d never gotten a response to the message she’d sent this morning, her hopes of this being an easy task to carry out dashed. She’s not even sure what to do next— try to track down an email, or a personal account to message as well? Olenna had been insistent, so she needs _some_ sort of response to give back to her boss, even if it isn’t the agreement they hope for.

He really is a beautiful dog, she thinks, scrolling through the photos. There are so many from the past winter of him running through snow the same color as his fur, tongue hanging out happily, completely at home in the icy tundra. Dany’s never even seen snow in her life. The North looks beautiful from the pictures here, her breath catching at a photo of Ghost with his paws in a river, snowcapped mountains sprawling behind him, fresh powder covering the banks. She can somewhat see where marketing is coming from. Seeing this dog in all these beautiful places around their country makes her want to go see them all herself.

Drogon meows at the screen as Dany clicks onto another photo, and she laughs, scratching his chin soothingly. “Don’t be jealous, love,” she says, leaning down to press a kiss to his soft fur. Drogon stretches under her hand, arching into her touch so that she can scratch him properly. She keeps scrolling, though, until she stumbles upon a photo that makes her heart stop.

The owner is in this one again, though Dany refuses to contribute the butterflies in her stomach _completely_ to that. This is a more recent photo, his face on full display— messy raven curls half pulled back, dark beard, eyes closed with those unfairly gorgeous lashes brushing against his cheekbones. Dany’s not sure who took the photo, because he’s asleep in it, Ghost curled up with him, the two of them sleeping together in a hammock that is _definitely_ not meant for both a grown man and a wolf-sized dog. Still, she can’t help the way her heart squeezes at it, this quiet, tender moment between the two of them.

And, she can’t deny that Missandei had a point. The guy is _very_ attractive.

Dany is so busy staring at the photo that she hardly registers the _ping_ that alerts her to a new message. She blinks at the page in surprise, looking at the little red notification, before clicking on it in disbelief.

_Hi,_ the message reads. _I’m Jon Snow, Ghost is my dog. I’d be happy to meet and talk about your offer when it works for you._

_I can meet tomorrow if you’re available,_ Dany types back immediately. _Are you located in King’s Landing as well? We can meet in person if so, or I can set up a skype call if that is easier for you. Does any time between 11 and 1 work for you?_

Dany waits with bated breath for the little dot dot dot to appear, to indicate that this Jon Snow is responding to her proposal. But it never does, her message remaining unread, and her shoulders sag again. Just when her hope that this would be a relatively simple task had returned. Absentmindedly, she scratches Drogon’s chin, smiling when he purrs contently, the minutes ticking by as the message screen remains the same.

Dany’s just about to doze off on the couch _again_ when the screen of her laptop finally lights back up, a new message appearing. She squints at the screen, words coming into focus as she blinks the sleep from her eyes.

_Sorry. I couldn’t figure out how to get back to the bloody message thing._

Dany’s brow furrows in confusion— is he joking? Surely someone with 2 million followers on instagram has received a _private message_ before— but regardless, he sends another message confirming he does live in King’s Landing, and he can meet tomorrow afternoon whenever it works for her. She suggests a café a few blocks from the office that she can meet him at during her lunch break, and thankfully, he agrees without ten minutes of silence in between this time.

Satisfied, Dany closes her laptop and retreats down the hall to her bed, Drogon trailing behind her. Tomorrow, she’ll meet with this Jon Snow, convince him to become a sponsor, and then maybe marketing’s harebrained plan will actually _work_ and their company will be saved.

Olenna _does_ always say she has a way of making impossible things happen.

 

***

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/47911239061/in/dateposted-public/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon isn’t sure exactly what he was expecting from the head of PR for a company as large and prestigious as Tyrell, but it certainly wasn’t her. Daenerys is young, probably about his age, effortlessly beautiful and put together, her silver-blonde hair tied back in an intricate braided knot at the nape of her neck. She smooths her hands over the skirt of her white dress, the contrast between that and the dark blue blazer she wears over it stark. Even in stilettos she is a couple inches shorter than him, though her tiny frame and stature do nothing to diminish the air of power about her. She seems young to be so high up at such a company, but Jon can tell just from looking at her that she knows what she’s doing, that she’s unquestionably earned her position no doubt through endless hard work. He can see that power in her startlingly blue eyes, peering back at him curiously, as if she is sizing him up as well. 
> 
> She is beautiful, Jon thinks, trying to ignore the sudden thumping of his heart. Now’s not the time for thoughts like that, even if they’re true. He is here for a reason, and that reason is not to ogle the representative of the company he might be endorsing. Or, well, his dog might be endorsing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! 
> 
> Let me start by saying I am blown away by the incredibly warm reception to this fic, and I am SO glad you guys are excited for the rest. This started off as some dumb little fluffy concept in my head and now it keeps growing and it's totally captured my heart, so I am very glad you are all as enraptured with it as I am. So thank you so much for all your kudos, comments, and everything! It seriously means the world. 
> 
> I also want to give a disclaimer that chapters are most likely not going to be posted this close together in the future, but I cranked this one out at work last week and couldn't resist sharing it once it was finished. I'm aiming for a new chapter to go up every 1-2 weeks, depending on my schoolwork. I've never posted a fic chapter by chapter as I've written it before, so we'll see how that goes! 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this, and I look forward to hearing what you think!! Thanks again for reading!!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/47944460067/in/dateposted-public/)

Dany’s heels click on the tiled floor as she enters the almost empty office the next morning, cup of coffee already in hand and ever-present exhaustion already creeping in, despite the caffeine. She’s been scrolling through the myriad of emails she’s already gotten this morning ever since she stepped out of her car, and they keep rolling in, more and more issues for her to solve.

“Good morning,” she offers Missandei along with a smile as she finally reaches her office. Missandei smiles back warmly, indifferent to the ungodly early hour she has to get here in the morning to accommodate Dany’s work schedule. “Remind me what I have today?”

“Press releases for the new line are going out tomorrow, you have a meeting with Renly and the board about that this afternoon for three hours,” Missandei rattles off. “And then you have a nine o'clock with Loras to continue your meeting from yesterday, and digital wants you to approve the next round of prints when you have free time this morning. You have a meeting with Jorah at 2, and Margaery asked if she could fit in a half hour this afternoon as well.”

“Alright,” Dany says, nodding slowly. Not _too_ bad today. She should be able to get most of her other work done in between her meetings. Still, there’s a jittery feeling settling in her stomach that has nothing to do with the meetings with her colleagues.

“I need you to block off my entire lunch break,” Dany tells Missandei, schooling her face into a neutral expression. She’s not quite sure why the prospect of meeting with Ghost’s owner has her feeling so off kilter— she has regular meetings with the board and the CEO of the company without anywhere near as much nerves as she has now— but she’s not about to let _anyone_ know how she feels before she figures it out herself. This seems like more than just a sponsorship deal, somehow— this seems inexplicably important.

“You don’t take a lunch break,” Missandei says, brow furrowing.

“I do today,” Dany replies. “I’m meeting with Ghost’s owner to discuss his sponsorship at noon. Could you change my calendar to say I’m out of office from 11:30 to 1?”

“Of course,” Missandei says, grin too wide for such an early hour. “And when you get back, I want to know if he’s just as handsome in person as he is online.”

Dany laughs at that, her friend’s eyes crinkling with joy. She tries to force down the faint butterflies in her stomach at the thought of seeing Jon’s lovely eyes right in front of her and not through a computer screen.

“I will write you a full report,” Dany promises her.

“You better,” Missandei teases. “I need _something_ more interesting to read today than all those dull press releases.” She flashes Dany one last smile before she disappears through the glass doors, back to her desk outside.

The morning passes in a blur, thankfully, the meetings with Loras and digital going off smoothly and almost completely problem-free. Before she knows it it’s almost time to leave, so she puts her laptop to sleep and slips it into her bag before grabbing her purse and leaving the office. “Have fun,” Missandei says with a waggle of her fingers as Dany heads for the elevators, rolling her eyes good naturedly at her assistant. This isn’t just a lunch break with some guy, this is still _work._ She has a job to do, and she intends to do it well.

The cafe is bustling when Dany gets there, but she still manages to snag a table out on the patio, the warm summer sunshine of King’s Landing bathing the flagstones in golden light. She pulls out her laptop to work while she waits, sipping slowly on the latte she’d ordered.

A few minutes pass by before she looks up again, and her pulse jumps when she realizes who has just arrived on the patio.

The man standing in the entryway can only be Jon Snow; if not for the fact that she recognizes his raven curls and well-defined arm muscles, visible still through the sleeves of his dark t shirt, the enormous dog at his side is a dead giveaway. Ghost is even more impressive in person, the dog looking up at his master expectantly, long tongue lolling out to the side. For an animal of such size, he is deceptively adorable, Dany thinks, mouth twisting up into a slight smile. His owner peers around the cafe’s patio, one hand gripping Ghost’s leash and the other at the back of his neck, his expression slightly unsettled, as if the amount of people around makes him nervous. It occurs to her that while she was very capable of stalking his instagram, this Jon Snow probably has no idea what she looks like, so she stands, smoothing the skirt of her dress back into place.

“Jon Snow?” she asks, and his head snaps towards hers, those eyes she had admired from her computer screen meeting hers for real this time. She can feel her heart thump, annoyingly, as she takes in the beautiful, dark shade of brown they are, locked right on hers.

He nods, taking a step towards her, Ghost following. “Daenerys Targaryen,” she says, sticking out her hand to shake his. She pushes the thoughts of his captivating eyes far, far down, mind fixed securely back on her goal. This is a job, and he’s just one more thing for her to check off in her list for the day.

It’s time for Dany to get to work.

***

Jon is half sorry and half glad that he brought Ghost along with him to this meeting.

He _had_ been planning on going alone, for the record. Even though Tyrell apparently wants his dog to be one of their new spokespeople, it’s not as if Ghost would understand a word of the logistics he has to talk through with this PR woman. But as he had grabbed his keys from the counter, Ghost had laid at his feet, eyes wide and begging, whining pitifully, and Jon had barely given it a minute to consider before grabbing his leash. The cafe he’s supposed to meet this Daenerys woman at is one he knows, anyways, and they are more than welcoming to dogs on the patio, of that he is sure.

Now, though, standing on said patio with the prospect of discussing a very serious decision for him looming closer and closer, he’s beginning to wonder if bringing his dog along was such a good idea. The patio is crowded, at the height of the lunchtime crowd, and Ghost’s tail wags, coming dangerously close to a table to his left. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, refusing to let the claustrophobia take hold of him, pushing down memories of the press of bodies against him that came before pain, blackness, then nothing. He inhales sharply, eyes closing briefly, remembering that this is a different time, a different place. The warm sun of the patio is nothing like the ever present icy chill of the Wall. He’s far from that place, from that time. Even when it sometimes feels impossible to forget.

Ghost whines by his side, just loud enough for Jon to hear, before pressing his wet nose into the hand that grips his leash tightly, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. Jon exhales, forcing the memories down, focusing on the present and counting his breaths until the panic crawling under his skin dissipates some. His dog looks up at him, deep red eyes wide and trusting, tongue lolling out, and Jon feels a rush of comfort flood him, the familiarity grounding him among this tight crowd of people as he sinks his hand into Ghost’s soft fur.

His fingers scratching at Ghost’s ears, Jon surveys the patio again, realizing belatedly that he does not have a clue what this Daenerys woman looks like. The cafe is littered with business people, most of the patrons half hidden behind laptops, probably all working through their lunch breaks. He’s not exactly sure how he’s supposed to find his meeting in all this— is he supposed to message her, let her know he’s here? If that’s the case he might have to call Arya first, because he still can’t figure out how to get the bloody message thing on instagram open.

“Jon Snow?” he hears, and his head snaps up, searching for the sound of the voice. There’s a woman standing at a table over to his right, eyes fixed on him, and he nods slowly, taking a step towards her.

Ghost follows behind him as he approaches the table, a little taken aback by her. “Daenerys Targaryen,” she offers, sticking out her hand for him to shake, and he does, wordlessly.

Jon isn’t sure exactly what he was expecting from the head of PR for a company as large and prestigious as Tyrell, but it certainly wasn’t her. Daenerys is young, probably about his age, effortlessly beautiful and put together, her silver-blonde hair tied back in an intricate braided knot at the nape of her neck. She smooths her hands over the skirt of her pure white dress, the contrast between that and the dark blue blazer she wears over it stark. Even in stilettos she falls a couple inches shorter than him, though her tiny frame and stature do nothing to diminish the air of power that radiates off of her. She seems young to be so high up at such a company, but Jon can tell just from looking at her that she knows what she’s doing, that she’s unquestionably earned her position no doubt through endless hard work. He can see that power in her startlingly blue eyes, peering back at him curiously, as if she is sizing him up as well.

She is beautiful, Jon thinks, trying to ignore the sudden thumping of his heart. Now’s not the time for thoughts like that, even if they’re true. He is here for a reason, and that reason is not to ogle the representative of the company he might be endorsing. Or, well, his _dog_ might be endorsing.

“Hi,” he says, finally able to force words out. Her smile is polite and professional, her eyes piercing as they meet his, like she is attempting to see right through to his soul. Jon tries not to shift uncomfortably, standing his ground before Daenerys’s gaze drops to the dog by his side.

“And this must be Ghost,” she says, her smile growing warmer. “Can I pet him?” she asks, meeting Jon’s eyes again, and he nods.

“He’d love that,” Jon says. “I know he looks like a wild animal, but truly, he’s a big teddy bear.”

Daenerys laughs at that, leaning over so that she can sink her fingers into Ghost’s fur, her well-manicured nails scratching behind his ear. Ghost basks in the attention, his tongue lolling out before she withdraws her hand, turning back to Jon.

“He’s magnificent,” Daenerys says, sitting down in her seat again, and Jon follows suit, taking the chair across from her.

“He’s alright, most of the time,” Jon jokes, shooting his dog an affectionate grin, scratching his head. It seems too much to tell a stranger how much exactly his dog means to him, how Ghost has saved him in more ways than one. Daenerys seems to pick up on his jest, raising an eyebrow at him as she smirks prettily.

“I hope it’s alright that I brought him,” Jon says, suddenly wondering what the protocol is on bringing pets to business meetings. Although, he supposes, this business meeting technically _is_ about Ghost. “I was going to leave him home, but he kept starin’ at me like I was abandoning him forever.”

Daenerys laughs at that, shaking her head. “Of course it’s fine. It’s nice to see in person one of the future faces of our company— hopefully, that is.” Jon doesn’t miss the glint in her eye, that determination in her sea blue irises making his heart speed up a little— either from fear or attraction, he isn’t sure.

“Anyways,” she says, closing her laptop and folding her hands on top of it. “Shall we get to business?” Her tone is all professionalism now, powerful and commanding, and Jon can tell immediately that she is not a person that ever allows anyone to walk over her. He nods wordlessly, glancing down to Ghost, who has curled up next to their table.

“I assume you want more information on why we want you,” Daenerys says, pulling out a folder from her bag, opening it to reveal several documents, and Jon nods, hoping his face doesn’t give away how bloody overwhelming this is starting to seem. “Our marketing team is focusing on branching out from the typical sponsor for companies like us— athletes, celebrities, and so on— so that our customers are inspired by people more like them. Ghost has a significant following, and we hope that by reaching that following, showing them the places you two go and the things you use our merchandise for, more people will be inspired to bring _their_ dogs and get out there. See more of the world, and the beauty it has to offer.”

Jon nods. “After buying your products,” he adds, because those are the words left unsaid at the end of her statement. Daenerys smiles tightly, her brow furrowing ever so slightly.

“Yes, that is the idea,” she says. “Your endorsement would help bring awareness to the opportunities available for people who want to be more active, but don’t know how to or where to go. And would also boost business for us, ideally.”

Jon nods, letting that sink in. “So how does it work?” he asks. “What do we have to do?”

“You would be provided with any products you think would be useful, but mostly your campaigning would focus on our new product lines for the fall and winter,” Daenerys explains. “You would be expected to post on Ghost’s instagram regularly talking about the products, their beneficial features, and how you’ve found them necessary in your hikes, or camps, or such. You would do takeovers on our social media accounts as well, for certain events, make corporate sponsorship appearances, participate in giveaways of our products for your followers, and similar things.”

Jon nods again, glancing down at Ghost. He can tell by the way that Daenerys is looking at him that she thinks this will be an easy sell. It should be, all things considered. The free equipment alone should be enough for Jon to sign right now. But there are other things to consider, as well. Something about her description sets his teeth on edge. He’s not about to sacrifice the value of his words just to pump up some company, even if they are paying him.

“So you want us to talk about how great your products are, basically,” he says. Daenery’s smile tightens, her eyes flashing. “What if I don’t think they’re great? I’m assumin’ you only want us to post good things.”

“That is generally the desired content of advertisement, yes,” Daenerys says, fixing him with a look. “You are familiar with how sponsorships work, aren’t you, Mr. Snow?”

Jon cringes at that, the formality of it. “Jon is fine,” he tells her, and she nods shortly. “And yes, I am. I was just wondering what happens if I don’t have anythin’ good to say about your products. Am I supposed to lie?”

She narrows her eyes at him, and Jon can see the polite professionalism start to fade, the hardened woman below start to show her teeth, like a dragon. “Please tell me you are not naïve enough to believe that every advertisement you have ever seen in your life is entirely truthful, Jon,” she says. “Marketing is all a sham. There are _no_ companies in the world with true integrity. All words are twisted, and reshaped, and rephrased, to the benefit of the company. Ours included, yes. But I will have you know,” she says, eyes alight, her tone, despite her careful words, full of fire. “I have worked my _arse_ off to reach the position I have at Tyrell because, unlike most companies, they _do_ actually care about more than just making money. I believe in the work we do to protect this planet, and for that reason, I have given everything I _have_ to making sure we succeed.” She pauses, surveying him again. “Now, I personally think that sponsoring a _dog_ is a waste of time, but our marketing team believes that your endorsement will help us reach a new demographic and increase our sales. And if our sales increase, then we can do more to protect this planet, which I suspect you care about just as much as I do. So yes,” she finishes, eyes narrowing. “You are supposed to _lie,_ if necessary.”

Jon blinks, taking in everything she just said, trying to process it all. The fire in her eyes fades, cool professionalism seeping back in, and Jon finds himself almost mourning the change. Even if he doesn’t agree with what she’s saying, she is certainly passionate about what she does, and he admires her for it.

Daenerys looks down at the file she had pulled out before, turning it towards him. “In addition to your pay, which is fairly significant, you will also receive all of the products for our fall and winter lines that pertain to what you and Ghost do. It’s a good deal,” she tells him, and Jon’s eyes skim over the writing in the contract, widening slightly when he catches sight of the compensation. Seven hells, money like _that_ would certainly make a difference.

Still, he’s not sure how he feels about having to support all their products unconditionally. That niggling feeling crawls under his skin at the idea of turning Ghost’s page into a pump-up corporate sponsorship. He doesn’t really care for instagram, but there is no denying the joy his dog exploring the world brings to other people, and he doesn’t need payment for that.

“My sister is a lawyer,” he tells Daenerys, meeting her eyes again, seeing the spark of aggravation appear in them again, and he almost smiles at that. “I’d like to have her look at these, if you don’t mind. Before I sign anythin’.”

“Of course,” she says, false pleasantries back. “If you have any questions, or want to meet again, please let me know.”

“Aye,” Jon agrees, but that reminds him. He still can’t figure out the bloody message system on instagram. “Do you have a phone number I could reach you at, though? Or an email?”

Daenerys pauses, surveying him quickly, but she still nods. “Sure,” she says, reaching into her bag, taking out a business card with her name displayed at the top. “Here is all of my contact information.”

“Thanks,” Jon says, standing up, and she follows suit, offering her hand for him to shake, which he does.

“I hope to be hearing from you soon, Jon Snow,” she says cooly, and he almost grins. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he returns, turning to his dog. “Ghost, come.”

Ghost yawns as he gets off the ground, falling dutifully in line at Jon’s side as they leave the café. As soon as it is out of eyeshot, Jon exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck to relieve the tension held still in it. He has so much still to think about, though, the thought of the sponsorship slightly overwhelming. And then, of course, there is Daenerys Targaryen, and that spark of absolute fire he saw in her eyes. He can’t help the thump of his heart just at the thought of her, that almost predatory glint to her eyes as she had surveyed him. She is not going to let him go easily, he knows.

Jon sighs again, his hand sinking into Ghost’s fur, letting the comforting feel of his dog’s head against his palm ground him. Ghost looks up at him, not a care in the world, as if he doesn’t know the emotional battle raging in his owner’s head, partially thanks to him.

When he gets home, he’s going to need a fucking drink.

***

Dany tries not to let her aggravation get to her as she stalks back into the office, dumping her bag next to her desk in a manner that suggests she is _definitely_ not succeeding. She exhales, trying to push the more-than-frustrating meeting with Jon Snow from her mind, determined to get her emotions in check. She has a thousand other things to do today, things much more high stakes than some man and his dog.

“You look frazzled,” Missandei says, stepping into Dany’s office. “Do you need anything?”

Dany laughs humorlessly. “Someone else to deal with Jon Snow?” She pauses at Missandei’s look of confusion. “Ghost’s owner,” she explains.

“The meeting was that bad?” Missandei asks, coming over to perch on the end of her desk as Dany collapses into her desk chair. Dany groans, burying her head in her hands.

“It could have been much better,” she mutters, looking up to meet Missandei’s eyes. “He wouldn’t sign. He took the paperwork home, and said he’ll think about it.” She pauses, shaking her head. “His biggest issue with the entire proposition was whether or not he would have to _lie._ He wanted to know if he didn’t like the products, if he still had to speak well about them.” Missandei’s eyebrows raise, her mouth falling open slightly.

“What did you tell him?” Missandei asks, and Dany snorts.

“I told him _yes,_ he would have to lie, because that’s how _advertising works,”_ Dany grumbles. “Or at least, that he can’t speak badly of our products.” She massages her temple, meeting Missandei’s gaze. “Do you know how many people I have negotiated sponsorship contracts with during my time here? _Countless._ And do you know how many have had issues with _lying,_ of all things? _None.”_ She swallows, trying to force down her annoyance again. “It’s always the money, or the time commitment, or the public appearances. Never the _truth_ behind it.”

“So he didn’t have issues with any of the other things?” Missandei asks. Dany just shrugs, because they never really discussed that.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say anything, just that he wanted to take the contract home, have his lawyer sister look it over,” she says, with a humorless laugh and a roll of her eyes. Missandei shrugs, crossing her ankles.

“People always say that. They rarely actually have a lawyer, unless they’re actually a celebrity or something.”

“Jon Snow does not strike me as the type to bluff about that, especially after his disdain for what I said about expecting him to only speak well of our products,” she says, crossing her arms. “Apparently there are some men left in this world with actual integrity.”

Missandei laughs, shaking her head at Dany. “You might as well say Drogo and Daario’s names; I know you’re talking about them,” Missandei tells her, and Dany huffs, rolling her eyes. “And besides. Seeing as you seem to have a knack for finding _dishonorable_ men, perhaps this Jon Snow is exactly what you need.”

“Please, Dei,” Dany laughs, a little of her aggravation fading at her friend’s teasing tone. “This is a business arrangement, nothing more.”

“That’s how they all start,” Missandei says gravely, making her laugh again. “At least tell me what you thought of him. Just as handsome in real life?”

Dany huffs, shaking her head, but she gives in to her friend’s prying regardless. “Aggravatingly so,” she confirms, because regardless of his frustrating honor, that at least can be said about Jon Snow. His eyes had been even warmer in person, the corded muscles of his arms more defined, his silky black curls more enticing. But there was something else about him that intrigued her, drew her to him— he lacked that usual suave confidence that men as good looking as him had. He didn’t seem to know how attractive he was, or didn’t care— he was more reserved and introverted. He hadn’t tried to overpower her, talk over her, or anything, despite his vocal disdain for her proposition. He’d stood his ground against her, but not in the cocky way men generally did with her. Jon Snow was stubborn, and infuriating, but he was also honest and sure, a quiet power hiding behind those deep brown eyes.

“I can see you thinking about him,” Missandei says with a raise of her eyebrows. Dany rolls her eyes, plugging her laptop back into the dock on her desk.

“Thinking about how I can get him to sign this damn contract,” she answers. Missandei’s expression softens at that, the teasing glint disappearing from her eyes.

“You’ll figure it out, Daenerys,” her friend assures her. “I’ve yet to see you fail at getting anything you want. You’ll get him to sign, and then you’ll probably figure out some brilliant strategy to save the outreach programs as well.”

“I hope,” Dany mutters, meeting her friend’s eye. She has worked too hard, poured too much into this company and its mission to just roll over and give up.

Somehow, she will get this stubborn Jon Snow to bend.

***

Jon swears, his life used to be simpler back when his sisters couldn’t stand each other.

Somehow years of being apart at different universities made them _befriend_ each other, and now the two of them are as thick as thieves— it’s like watching Robb and himself back when they were ten, and sometimes Jon wonders if this is their karmic payback for always torturing Sansa when they were young.

(They had tried to play a prank on Arya once, and it had colossally backfired, with Bran ending up in the hospital with a fracture in his spine. Catelyn had been furious, and for the first time in his life, Jon had seriously been terrified that his less-that-fond-of-him adoptive mother would throw him out of the house. From that day on, they recruited Arya to help them, instead of ganging up against her.)

Despite his closeness with Robb, Jon has always gotten on with Arya the best, so when he had shown up at Sansa’s apartment clutching the contract Daenerys had given him in one hand and his sister’s favorite bottle of wine in the other, he had been surprised, yet pleased, that Arya had opened the door. He’s starting to regret that enthusiasm now, though, as the two of them scroll through his phone, snickering at something.

“Arya,” Jon says, his voice practically pleading. “Can I please have my phone back?”

“Do you ever look at the number of likes on these posts?” Arya says, ignoring her brother’s request. He leans over to see the two of them scrolling through Ghost’s instagram, Arya clicking on the photo he’d posted this morning of their trip to the mountains in the Vale last month with Robb and Grey Wind. Robb had been the one to take the photo, Jon sitting on the peak of the mountain, face buried in Ghost’s fur and arms wrapped around him as his dog sprawled across his lap as if he was the size of a cocker spaniel and not a wolf.

“Not really,” Jon says, shrugging. He has the notifications for his account turned off, simply because of the sheer number of followers Ghost has, though he _does_ know how to scroll through and view the comments from the posts themselves. Jon generally forgets about the pictures after he posts them, though, and with the amount of notifications he gets with every post, it’s exhausting to look through them all. “Why?” he asks. “Should I be?”

“We just noticed that your last post has a significantly higher number of likes than the post before it,” Sansa says, and he _hates_ the smirk on his sister’s face, the matching gleam in Arya’s eye. He’s not sure yet what it means, but he’s sure he won’t like it.

“So?” Jon asks, eyes darting between the two of them. “What does that matter?”

“So, we went and looked at your other posts too,” Sansa continues, thoroughly ignoring the contract sitting in her lap so that she can continue snooping on his instagram account. “And it seems that _every_ time you post a picture with you in it as well, you get much more likes.”

Jon just blinks at them, trying to comprehend what they’re suggesting. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” he tells his sisters. “Why would pictures of me get more likes? It’s Ghost’s account.”

Sansa scoffs at him, giving him a look that suggests he is the world’s biggest idiot. Honestly, he’s beginning to feel it right now. “Jon,” Arya says, her voice both sympathetic and condescending at the same time. “I love you, brother, but sometimes you’re too dense. It’s because of _you,_ clearly.”

“It is not,” Jon retorts. People follow Ghost’s account for _Ghost,_ for the photos he takes of his dog out in nature, capturing the beauty of their planet. They’re not following along with his and Ghost’s adventures for the hopes of a glimpse at _him._

“It definitely is,” Sansa says, with a nonchalant shrug. Something about her blasé attitude makes Jon snap.

“You’ve had my phone for _three minutes,”_ he says, scowling at them. “And in that time you’ve somehow managed to prove this theory without question?”

“No,” Sansa says, “But there are _quite_ a few comments on this post about you that certainly eliminate any questions.”

Jon’s brow furrows in confusion at that. About _him?_ That doesn’t make any sense. Why would people be commenting about him on Ghost’s page?

“What do you mean?” he says, scooting closer to his sisters on the couch. Sansa literally cackles at one, pointing it out to Arya.

 _“Gods, I wish I were that dog,”_ his younger sister reads, Sansa still incapable of keeping herself composed. Jon blinks, unsure how to take that.

“That’s not about me,” he argues. They could be jealous of the setting, or Ghost’s complete lack of responsibilities. Gods know Jon is, sometimes. But Arya holds up a hand, continuing to read.

 _“I’d love to straddle those thighs,”_ she finishes, giggling herself. Jon feels himself turn red, his hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck involuntarily. He’s never been good at receiving attention like that, more likely to fumble and make a fool of himself with women than successfully woo them. Robb had always teased him for it when they were younger, his brother much more confident and dashing when it came to picking up girls, basking in their attention easily. Jon’s gotten better now, but still— direct comments like that make him uneasy.

The fact that most of his relationships have ended in complete fucking _disaster_ doesn’t exactly help his ease with women, either.

“Alright,” Jon says, smoothing a hand over his beard, trying to push the comments from his mind. It’s not even like it’s _his_ account, too; somehow it’s worse that people are commenting things like this on a _dog’s_ instagram. He’s not some piece of meat to be ogled, for gods’ sakes. All he wants is to share Ghost’s adventures around the country. “Can we return to the _important_ matters here, maybe? Sansa, have you actually looked at this contract?”

“Yes, I have,” she defends. “It looks decent to me. Fairly straightforward,” she says, finally picking up the papers in her lap again, rifling through them. “It talks about how often you’ll be expected to post and what sort of things you can say— nothing defamatory, of course— and events you’ll be expected to participate in. They can use you and Ghost’s likeness in advertisement, as well. And they’ll want information on your account— demographics, followers, post reach, things like that.” Jon nods, as if he knows what all of that means. Sansa seems confident in what is laid out in the contract, though, and he trusts her, so it can’t be anything too bad.

“It talks about all the product you’ll receive, and the compensation, too,” Sansa says, looking up to meet her brother’s eye. “That’s a lot of money they’re offering you for this, Jon.”

He sighs, nodding slowly. It is a lot of money. It would _certainly_ make a difference too, bartending shifts and odd jobs not exactly leaving anything left over once the bills are paid. But they’re still that nagging fear, that doubt in his mind about selling his dog’s account over to a corporate sponsor. Even for the money, he’s not sure he wants to sacrifice it.

“There’s nothing hidden in here that I’ve found,” Sansa adds. “And I’ve done my research. Tyrell seems to genuinely be a good company, and they _are_ known for giving back to the environment a lot.” She pauses, studying her brother. “But I can see you’re still not sure.”

“Why don’t you want to take it?” Arya asks, finally dropping his phone to meet his eye. “It seems like the perfect deal. They’re paying you to go hiking with Ghost.”

“But they’re not,” Jon says, doubt pulling at him again, creeping under his skin. He sighs, leaning forward on the couch, fingers pushing through his hair.

“It just feels wrong to me,” he admits, meeting his sisters’ eyes. “To take Ghost’s page and fill it with advertisement.” He sighs again, unsure how to phrase the nagging apprehension that fills him whenever he thinks of this deal. “I don’t bloody know. I don’t care about instagram, but I care about what we show people on there. I know the people who follow Ghost follow him to see him all over the country. Explorin’ the world, showin’ them places they’ve never even dreamed exist.” Jon pauses, pressing his fingers to his temple. “His account is supposed to show people how much _beauty_ there still is out there, even in this shit world we’re living in. And it feels wrong, to turn it into all advertisements.”

“That makes sense,” Sansa says, voice gentle. Jon looks up again, and he can see the understanding in her eyes, proof that she doesn’t think he’s completely mad. “But Jon,” she says, looking down to the contract in her lap again. “It won’t be like that. Not based on everything outlined here, anyways. You’ll be expected to post about once a week, not every day. It won’t be as if his followers are suddenly bombarded with advertisements. The account is still yours. You still have control of what you put out there, what you say.”

“Do I, though?” Jon says. “That— Daenerys woman, she told me I can only say good things about their products. If I think something is fucking _stupid,_ and a waste of money, I can’t post and say that.”

“Then don’t post about it at all,” Sansa says with a shrug. “There’s nothing in here stating you have to speak certainly of _specific_ products. If there’s something you don’t like, don’t say anything about it at all. Find the things you _do_ like, the things that make your trips better, and tell your followers so that their trips are better too.”

“I can do that?” Jon asks, brows raising. If that is a possibility, then… he might be able to do that. He can find things he truly does like, help other people find them as well.

“Legally standing, yes,” Sansa says, nodding her head. “There’s nothing in here binding you to talking about specific products. It just says you have to speak about products given to you from their upcoming lines. But it doesn’t call anything out by name.”

The three of them fall silent for a moment, before Arya shifts, meeting Jon’s eyes. “I think you should do it,” she tells him, not a hint of joking in her eyes. “It makes sense, what you said about Ghost’s account. What it’s about. And I understand, wanting to keep advertisement out of it.” She shrugs. “But I think it’s a great opportunity, Jon. You said the point of Ghost’s instagram is to show people this planet, places they don’t even know exist. What if you showing them you using Tyrell’s gear inspires them to go out and see it for themselves? Maybe they wanted to, but didn’t know where to start. If you show them what you use, _how_ you get out there, maybe others will follow your lead.”

Jon blinks, absorbing Arya’s words. He hadn’t thought of it that way. He looks between his two sisters, trying to sort through it all. Daenery’s words from their meeting flash through his mind too— the point of his sponsorship is to reach a new demographic, to inspire more normal people to get out there. Maybe he can help that happen with Ghost’s account. And gods know the money would help _him._

Sansa and Arya both have their eyes trained on him, as if waiting for him to say something. Jon doesn’t, though— instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling the business card Daenerys had given him from his wallet. Arya hands him back his phone wordlessly, a small smile playing at her lips.

He dials the number printed on the card, holding his breath as it rings. Sansa leans over, squeezing his shoulder supportively. He can feel his heart pounding still, the monumental nature of this decision starting to hit him.

“Hello?” he hears on the line, and his heart thunders at the sound of her voice, leaping in his chest as the memory of her floods his brain— that air of power about her, the sheer determination shining in her blue eyes, terrifying and captivating all at once. Jon closes his eyes, forcing those thoughts down. Now is _not_ the time for things like that. There are much more important things at hand.

“Hi, Daenerys?” he asks, and Sansa and Arya find his gaze again, both of their smiles warm and encouraging. “This is Jon Snow.”

***

The silence of the office is deafening, Dany thinks, the only noise echoing through the entire building the clicking of her keyboard as she pushes through the last of her work. She’d sent Missandei home an hour ago, already much later than the typical ending of the workday. Dany sighs, pausing to take another bite of the salad she had grabbed for dinner before her assistant headed out. She just has to finish up these last couple things, send out these final few emails, and then, _finally,_ she can go home.

It had been one of those endless days of endless meetings, back to back to back until she took her nonexistent lunch break, catching up on emails while she ate her sandwich, then jumping right back into meetings. The beginning of a new season is always busy, the workload from coordinating new product releases and the season’s brand ambassadors almost soul crushing. Taking the last bite of her salad, Dany stands, stretching her hands over her head, arching her back like Rhaegal always does after a long nap.

Gods, she needs a nap. Or a caffeine IV. Or a week off for vacation. There will be none of that right now, though, she knows. Olenna had come to see her earlier, to ask her if she would mind helping coordinate between marketing and the other teams with their new action plan to raise revenue and save the philanthropic branch of the company. Dany had immediately agreed, pushing down the nagging thought in her head telling her she did _not_ have time for the extra responsibility. Missandei had just rolled her eyes good-naturedly after Olenna had left, telling Dany that she would, of course, take anything she could off Dany’s plate to help get everything done.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, anyways. And Dany isn’t about to let the principles of Tyrell fall to the side when there is something she can do to help.

The carpet of her office is soft under her feet, discarded heels laying underneath her desk, where they had been banished to after almost everyone else had left. A few more emails, and then she can go home. Glancing at the time on her desktop, Dany sighs, wondering if it would just be better to sleep on the office floor. She’s almost positive Margaery keeps blankets and pillows stashed in her office for that exact purpose.

Dany sits back down, determination sparking again, the late-night adrenaline rush telling her to get these emails sent off so she can leave. She whizzes through them, clicking _send_ on the last one twenty minutes later, work for the day done, _finally._ She glances at the checklist next to her mousepad, eyes skimming over the tasks for today, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything. Drawing a neat, precise line through the emails she just sent off, there is only one thing that remains uncrossed on her list: _Jon Snow._

Dany sighs, resting her head in her hands. She is entirely unsure what to do about Jon Snow and his lack of response after their meeting three days ago. Olenna had inquired about their new potential spokesperson when she had come by earlier, and Dany had assured her the situation was under control, and they would have a definite answer soon. “Get him to sign, Daenerys,” Olenna had said, with a knowing raise of her eyebrows. “Marketing has him as a key part of their strategy for the next quarter. We need him on board.”

The next step is to message him again, she guesses, try to set up another meeting, and see what they can compromise from his contract in order to get him. The thing with him, though, is that it’s not the money, like it generally is for sponsors. Regardless, she’s determined to win him over. She’s not about to give up so easily. So she will track down this Jon Snow, and she will figure out what it takes to get him to sign, and she will make it happen.

The sound of her phone ringing suddenly breaks the silence, Dany jumping in her chair. Her heart still pounding with adrenaline, she looks at her cell phone, brow furrowing at the unknown number before answering it. “Hello?” she says, holding it to her ear.

“Hi, Daenerys?” she hears on the other line, and her heart _stops._ “This is Jon Snow.”

“Yes, it’s me,” she says, sitting straight up in her chair, toes digging into the carpet. “It’s good to hear from you, Jon.”

“Uh, you too,” he says, his voice somewhat strained, as if he’s anxious. Dany knows the feeling— her heart is racing in her chest, anticipation clawing at her for what Jon might say. She fights to maintain her composure, not let her emotions get the best of her— she has to be professional, collected, convincing, if she’s going to get him to sign.

“I looked over the contract you gave me, and so did my sister,” he says, and Dany can practically feel her heart pounding against her skin, as if it might jump out of her chest. She braces herself for the list of amendments he’s sure to rattle off, the compromises she will have to pull strings for tomorrow. But she’ll do it, without a doubt. She may still have her reservations about bringing on a _dog_ as a spokesperson, but if Olenna wants it done, Dany will make sure it gets done.

“I thought about it,” Jon says, and she nods, even though he can’t see her, heart still pounding.  “And I decided I’ll do it. I’ll be a sponsor for the brand. Or, well, Ghost will.”

It takes everything in her to not leap into the air at his words, but she cannot help but squeeze her eyes closed, mouthing _yes!_ silently in celebration. “That’s wonderful,” she says out loud, keeping her tone even. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

“So, what comes next?” Jon asks. “What do I have to do?”

“You’ll have to come in to the office for another meeting,” she tells him, slipping back into business mode immediately. “We’ll go over the contract, have you sign it, and then discuss the details of your commitment,” she says. “When is the soonest you can come in?”

“I can come in tomorrow, during the morning,” he says. “ Is that alright? Ghost and I are leaving for Riverrun in the afternoon, for the weekend.”

Dany scrambles for her mouse, pulling up her calendar, silently groaning when she catches sight of her schedule for tomorrow. She has hardly any breaks, and a lunchtime skype meeting with one of their suppliers in Essos, too. “I have a block free from 10:30 to 12,” she says. “Is that alright?”

“Aye, that works,” Jon answers. “Uh, where is the office?”

She rattles off the address for him, as well as instructions for the parking garage. “Tell the receptionist you’re here for me when you get to the front desk, and I’ll send someone down for you,” she tells him. “And call me if you have any problems.”

“Alright,” Jon says. “I’ll, uh, see you then.”

“See you then,” Dany echoes. “Goodbye, Jon.”

She waits until Jon says goodbye as well, until the line has gone dead, before she finally gives in and jumps out of her chair, fist-pumping in a _very_ unprofessional manner. The perks of being the only one left in the office, she supposes, her grin wider than she would have thought physically possible. But she doesn’t care how ridiculous she looks— Jon Snow is going to sign, and Tyrell will have Ghost as a sponsor, and then she is going to help save this company, if it’s the last thing she does.

Dany closes her laptop, packing up her bag to finally go home, before her eye catches on the piece of paper by her trackpad. Leaning over, she crosses off _Jon Snow_ with a satisfied smile, her list finally complete.

***

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/47944491856/in/dateposted-public/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lobby is gorgeous, all creamy marble and glass, planters full of roses and beautifully carved wooden tables framing the waiting area. Jon had tried to look like he knew what he was doing when he had walked up to the receptionist and asked for Daenerys, but the longer he sits here, the longer he feels completely out of place. People in smart business suits and sky high stilettos rush by him, laptops clutched in one hand and coffee in the other, and he feels completely underdressed in his henley and jeans. 
> 
> Still, he refuses to let it rattle him completely, scrolling through his phone to keep his mind occupied and his hands busy. Absentmindedly, he opens up Ghost’s instagram, choosing a photo of his dog up in the North last winter, reading through the comments listed below, saying what a beautiful dog, what a beautiful place.
> 
> That’s why he’s doing this, he reminds himself. To inspire more people to get out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again friends! 
> 
> In case you were wondering, yes I absolutely am putting off my homework and other responsibilities to work on this, and no I do not have any regrets. Even though it's kinda coming back to bite me in the ass this week. I am so tired. I need a nap. Regardless, this chapter was really fun to write, and I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think of this!! Reading all your comments on the last chapter made me smile so much. 
> 
> I'm gonna try my best to stick to updating about once a week or so, but as the semester continues on I'm not sure I'll be able to hold myself to that (especially since my chapters seem to be getting progressively longer and longer as they go. I don't know why I'm surprised by that; my number one skill is underestimating how long things I write are gonna be.) That being said-- as the breaks between chapters get longer, would y'all want me to post weekly sneak peeks on my tumblr? If so let me know and I will get that going :) (my tumblr is stilesssolo, for the record, as is my twitter.) 
> 
> ALRIGHT that's enough rambling on my part. Enjoy, and have a lovely rest of your Wednesday!!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48005351617/in/dateposted-public/)

Jon tries not to fidget in the plush chair he’s sitting in, attempting to maintain a semblance of cool composure while he waits. The thing, though, is that ever since he walked into the lobby of Tyrell’s corporate headquarters ten minutes ago, this deal he’s agreed to has begun to seem more and more completely fucking overwhelming.

The lobby is gorgeous, all creamy marble and glass, planters full of roses and beautifully carved wooden tables framing the waiting area. He had tried to look like he knew what he was doing when he had walked up to the receptionist and asked for Daenerys, but the longer he sits here, the longer he feels completely out of place. People in smart business suits and sky high stilettos rush by him, laptops clutched in one hand and coffee in the other, and he feels completely underdressed in his grey henley and black jeans.

Still, he refuses to let it rattle him completely, scrolling through his phone to keep his mind occupied and his hands busy. Absentmindedly, he opens up Ghost’s instagram, choosing a photo of his dog up in the North last winter, reading through the comments listed below, saying what a beautiful dog, what a beautiful place.

That’s why he’s doing this, he reminds himself. To inspire more people to get out there.

“Jon Snow?” he hears, immediately looking up, meeting the caramel colored eyes of a woman standing in front of him. She smiles pleasantly, and though it is professional, Jon can see the hints of warmth in it.

“Aye, that’s me,” he says, standing. The woman offers her hand, and he shakes it.

“I’m Missandei, Daenerys’s assistant,” she tells him. “I’m to bring you to the conference room for your meeting. Did you get a visitor’s badge?”

Jon nods wordlessly, pulling at the temporary badge they had given him, clipped to the belt loop on his pants. “Perfect,” Missandei says, gesturing to the hall behind the receptionist’s desk. “Right this way, please.”

Missandei leads him through a never ending channel of hallways and to an elevator, before they turn down _more_ hallways, lined with glass offices and conference rooms, full of people. Finally, they reach their destination, Missandei opening the door to a smaller room for him, ushering him inside.

“Daenerys should be here in a moment,” Missandei says. “She was just finishing up another meeting. She’s been booked solid today.” Jon nods, taking a seat at the table, Missandei sitting across from him and immediately opening her laptop, typing away.

The minutes tick by in a torturously slow manner, before he catches sight of a flash of blonde behind the frosted glass, the door to the room swinging open to reveal Daenerys.

She has her hair down this time, Jon notices, and it’s longer than he would have guessed, silver waves tumbling down her back, the top half twisted away from her face in a braided crown. She looks as regal as he remembers, dark dress perfectly tailored to her, hugging every curve of her body. _Gods,_ she’s still so beautiful— good to know his mind wasn’t exaggerating on that front.

“Jon,” she says with a smile, but he can see the falseness in it, the exhaustion behind her eyes. “Good to see you again.”

“You as well,” he says, nodding to her as she takes the seat across from him, setting down her laptop and her coffee tumbler.

“Well,” she says, pulling her laptop open, glancing over to her assistant. “Are you ready to sign the contract? You agree to all terms as is, no changes necessary?”

He nods slowly, meeting her eyes. “Aye, it looked good as is.”

“Perfect,” she says, sliding the paper over to him, a pen with it. “Sign at the green post it flags, initial at the blue.”

Missandei and Daenerys both watch him as he flips through the pages slowly, signing where necessary. He reaches the end page, the full line for his signature and the date, and he pauses, taking it in again. He’s really doing this. Ghost is really going to be sponsored by this company.

He signs on the line, dating it as well, before sliding the paper back to Daenerys silently.

“Alright,” Daenerys says, a glint of triumph in her eyes. “Missandei, can you bring this over to legal and have them file it? I have some things to go over with Jon.”

“Of course,” her assistant says, taking the contract, meeting his eyes again as she stands. “Lovely to meet you, Jon. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you around here.” He just nods, the monumental nature of what he just agreed to still sinking in. He sort of feels like he just signed his life away.

“So,” Daenerys says, once Missandei has left the room and the door has swung closed after her. “Let’s talk about what this means for you.”

Jon nods his head, folding his arms on the table between them. “Please.”

“Marketing and our PR team will come up with a complete strategy for you posts, from the timing to the content,” she tells him. “That way you barely have to do anything.” Jon’s stomach drops, his worst fears starting to come true.

“Sansa said there’s nothin’ in that contract binding me to speak about _specific_ products,” he rebuts, and he can see that fire flash in Daenerys’s eyes again, that spark of aggravation. “If I’m doing this, I’m going to find products _I_ like, that _I_ think are helpful. I’m not just going to spit back whatever bullshit your marketing team tells me to say.”

“I take it Sansa is your sister, the lawyer,” Daenerys says, and he nods. “Alright,” she concedes, taking a sip of her coffee. “In that case, you will work _with_ marketing and the PR team to coordinate what you post and when, and we will go over your posts and what you want to say before they go up. Which will be more work for you, you know,” she adds.

“That’s fine,” he responds, trying to keep his voice neutral, not grit his teeth together. “I don’t mind doin’ more work.”

“You know you can’t post anything defamatory, right?” Daenerys asks, voice chilly. “Even if you don’t like a product, you’re not allowed to say that, per your contract.”

“I know,” Jon says. “That’s fine. I won’t badmouth anything. But I’m not turnin’ Ghost’s account into a personalized advertisement for you and singing praises of all your products. If I think something you give me is stupid, I’m not postin’ about it.”

“Okay,” Daenerys says, smoothing her hair back, and Jon almost feels bad for a moment, because for one second, her walls go down, and she just looks so fucking _tired._ But then she turns back to him, and that fire in her eyes is back, that spark that both draws him in and makes him want to run for the hills.

“So you will be mostly responsible for coming up with the content for your followers, but marketing will still want to come up with a strategy for those posts— photo types, posting time, et cetera. They want me to get some initial information about your account, too,” she says, clicking away at her laptop, the soft tapping of the keys echoing through the room. “What is your audience demographic?”

 _Shit._ This is the part he had been dreading.

Jon runs his hand over the back of his neck, fingers digging into the muscle there, glancing down at his phone on the table with its blank black screen. He’d voiced his concerns to Arya about this exact issue, but she had just shrugged, telling him to call her if he needed help with any of the technological stuff. “Tyrell will have people that literally are employed to work instagram, Jon,” she had told him. “They’ll know what to do. And worst come to worst, fake it till you make it.”

He supposes, in this small conference room with just him and Daenerys, the latter is his only option.

“What do you mean?” he asks, dread curling in his stomach when she narrows her eyes at him quizzically.

“I mean, what kind of people follow you,” she says. “What age ranges, where they’re from, gender, all of that.”

“Oh,” Jon says, nodding slowly. Is he supposed to _know_ that? He has so many bloody followers, how could he possibly be expected to keep track of them all? “I’m not sure, really. Ghost has a lot of followers. I don’t really look at them all.”

She tilts her head, looking at him curiously. “You don’t have to,” she tells him. “The app keeps track of it for you.”

“It does?” he asks, feeling more and more like a fucking _idiot_ with every word that comes out of his mouth. She just nods, eyes narrowing again.

“It should be under your insights,” she says, and Jon picks up his phone, opening up instagram once it’s unlocked. “Have you really never looked at your demographic before?”

“No,” he says, his free hand balling into a fist in frustration, the insights button or whatever in the seven hells he’s supposed to be looking for evading him. “I don’t see anythin’ about insights on here.”

“Can I?” Daenerys says, holding out a hand. Jon nods wordlessly, handing his phone over to her. She taps away at the screen deftly, before her brow furrows, lips pursing in confusion. But then she looks up at him, those sea blue eyes a mix of confusion and pure _anger,_ and he can feel his stomach drop.

“This is a personal account,” she says, and now it’s Jon’s turn to be confused, _again._ What is that supposed to mean? Is there any _other_ type of account you can have on this godsforsaken app?

“Aye,” he agrees. “What else would it be?”

“You don’t have this set up as a business account?”

He wants to growl with aggravation— every word that comes out of Daenerys’s mouth is just making him feel like more and more of a bloody idiot. He does know _some_ things, and he is pretty knowledgeable on most fronts, just not godsdamned social media accounts.

“He’s a dog. Why would I have it set up as a business account? We’re not sellin’ anything,” he grits out.

Daenerys looks at him like he’s five years old, and she’s explaining how the world works to him. “You don’t need to have a business to have a business account,” she tells him. “But when you have your account set up as a business, you get insights. Like who follows you, when they’re active on instagram, the number of people you reach with each post. Information that our marketing team wants about your account.” She passes his phone back to him, and he exhales slowly, trying to calm the frustration building up in him. “You’ll have to set it up as a business account,” she says, and Jon just nods, hoping that they can move on to something else. He’ll make Arya set up this account thing or whatever later, on the ride to the riverlands.

“Alright,” Daenerys says, moving on, and Jon sighs in relief. “Now, focusing on your posts— what kind of posts do you find your followers engage with more? Do you have specific hashtags you’ve found work better to increase your reach?” She squints, looking at her laptop again. “And what kind of reach do you get with your stories? Do you find your followers engage more with those, or with posts?”

Jon’s head feels like it’s spinning, trying to process everything she just said. “I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t really pay attention to those things,” he says, his chest tightening as Daenerys glares at him again. That uncomfortable, claustrophobic feeling begins to seep back in, even though they’re the only two people in the room. The silence of the office is suddenly stifling, discomfort clawing at his stomach, demanding he flee.

“Well, marketing will want to pay attention to those things,” she says, and he wants to snap at her for the condescending tone in her voice. Gods above, can he rip up this contract now? _Nothing_ is worth this stress and aggravation. Something inside him snaps, and he leans over, trying not to groan with aggravation as he presses his fingers against his temple, trying to relieve the headache he can feel coming on.

“I’m sorry, is that too much to expect of you?” Daenerys says, and his head snaps up, her tone downright _icy._ There is no warmth in her expression, no semblance of friendliness left in her eyes as she glares at him. “In the contract you _just signed,_ you agreed to sharing insights about your followers and posts with us,” she snaps. “So I will remind you that you are _legally obligated_ to give us those data, even if it is something _you_ never look at. Marketing will think it is much less useless than you do, I swear to you.”

 _That’s not the fucking problem,_ he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. The problem is that he has no idea where to even _start_ looking for all that information.

“Daenerys,” he says, meeting her eyes again. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.” She blinks at him, the hostility in her expression fading a little bit.

“I have no problem sharing all of that with you,” he tells her, and she raises her eyebrows expectantly, either waiting for him to continue or to give him the numbers, he’s not sure. He sighs— fuck it all, he has to come clean now. “I’m just not sure… how to.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, her pretty brow furrowing at him. He swallows, wishing that he was _anywhere_ but here right now.

“I…” He exhales, meeting her eye, refusing to look away, even if it’s taking every ounce of self control to force the words out. “I don’t actually know how to use instagram.”

She freezes for a second, blinking at him in shock, and Jon braces himself for the verbal beatdown she is _definitely_ about to issue. But instead, a grin spreads across her face, and she _laughs._

Her laugh is beautiful, he can’t help but notice, as is her smile. It stretches across her whole face, wide and bright as sunshine, her laughter as light as air. Her eyes crinkle at the corner, and warmth immediately floods her eyes, making Jon lose his breath, practically. It’s a damn shame that _these_ are the circumstances making her look so happy.

“I’m sorry,” she says, a smile still playing at her lips. “You _what?”_

“I can’t use this bloody app,” he says, his expression hardening. Hers immediately sobers at the serious look on his face, the reality starting to sink in as she realizes he’s being serious.

“You don’t know how to use instagram,” she parrots, blinking at him. “I… I’m confused.”

“I know how to post the pictures,” he says. “That’s it. My sister does everything else, if I need it. Posts on my… stories, or whatever it’s called. I would have never even seen your message if she hadn’t shown it to me. I still can’t figure out how to get back to that.”

She looks at him, eyes narrowing, that cold expression taking over her face again, and Jon finds himself mourning the warmth in her eyes that had been there a minute ago. “You have two million followers on instagram, and yet, you don’t know how to use instagram,” she clarifies. He nods, leaning back in his chair, exhaling sharply.

“How in the _hell_ do you have two million followers on instagram, without knowing anything about it other than how to _post pictures?”_ she demands. Jon raises a hand to his hair, running over it agitatedly.

“I don’t bloody know,” he says. “People like seeing pictures of my dog. I know how to post pictures of my dog.” He huffs in aggravation. “What else do I need to do?”

Daenerys just studies him again, shaking her head slightly, as if she’s still trying to process this. “Okay,” she says, fixing him with a pointed glare. “So… you just signed a contract with a _major corporation,_ agreeing to be an instagram spokesperson for them, knowing _fully well_ that you cannot operate instagram.”

Jon has to admit, she has a point.

“I guess so,” Jon admits, regretting this stupid decision more and more by the second. Seven hells, why did he let his sisters talk him into this?

“Alright,” Daenerys says, shaking her head again, the expression on her face unreadable. She stands, staring at him with a mixture of confusion and pure rage. “Hold on a minute,” she says, her tone sharp. “I need to… I’ll be right back. Just… stay there.” He doesn’t have time to respond at all before she’s out of the room, the glass door swinging closed behind her.

Groaning, Jon lets his head drop to the table, eyes squeezing closed. All he can see is the flash of anger in Daenerys’s eyes, the sway of her hips as she had stalked out of the room.

He is totally, royally, _fucked._

***

Dany can feel her anger building with every click of her heels against the tile floor.

She breezes past desks and offices, passing her own in a blur, Missandei throwing her a quick, quizzical glance. But Dany has a destination set, her mind only focusing on bringing her there, one step at a time, the seething rage within her bubbling higher as she draws closer and closer.

Stupid fucking _Jon Snow._

She can see Olenna in her office, Margaery seated next to her, behind the desk, the two of them discussing something. Dany ignores Olenna’s assistant, her soft, hesitant warning that her boss is busy, knocking sharply on the glass door before tugging it open.

“Daenerys,” Olenna says, brow furrowing slightly. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” Dany spits out, hands falling to her hips, and she can feel the fire of the dragon bubbling up, threatening to take over. “I am currently in a meeting with our newest brand ambassador. Jon Snow. The man who owns that dog that marketing is _hells bent_ on having for our new line.”

“He’s a key point in our new strategy,” Margaery says, lips pursing as she looks at Dany. “We feel that we will be able to reach a completely new demographic with him, branch out into previously abandoned markets with his support.” Dany stares back at the head of marketing, refusing to back down.

“That’s a wonderful thought,” she says, words like fire. “But there is a major flaw in your plan.”

“I thought you said he signed,” Olenna says, lips pursed. “I just was copied on the email from legal.”

“He did sign,” Dany confirms. “However, he does not know how to _use his instagram account.”_

That stuns the other two women into silence.

“I’m sorry,” Margaery says, brow furrowing. “You’re joking, right? How can he not know how to use instagram? He has over two million followers.”

“You’d like to assume that he would know how, right? With that big of a following, anyways. But no,” she says, flipping her hair back in frustration. “I started talking about post reach and follower demographics, and he looked at me like I was speaking High Valyrian.”

“Does it matter?” Olenna says, eyeing the two of them. “Marketing is going to tell him exactly what to post anyways. And he’s said he knows how to post photos. What else is he supposed to do?”

“We have a whole strategy mapped out,” Margaery says, looking at her grandmother. “Aside from posts, we want him to participate in Q & As on his story, go live from his hikes with Ghost, host some giveaways— there are more things, as well.”

“I guarantee you, he does not know how to do any of that,” Dany says, frowning. “He barely knows what stories are.”

“You still need him, right, Margaery?” Olenna asks her granddaughter. The other woman nods, worrying her lip.

“Well, that settles it,” Olenna says, folding her hands. “Daenerys, just teach him to use the app.”

Dany laughs humorlessly. “Seriously?” she asks. Olenna just nods.

“Marketing was going to have to approve all his posts anyways,” Olenna says, and Margaery tips her head towards her grandmother, considering. “I believe that you are more than capable of approving for both marketing and PR. So you’ll be solely in charge of him, Daenerys.”

Dany blinks, taking in Olenna’s words. “That makes sense, actually,” Margaery says. “We’ll still work with you, give you all our plans, of course. But that will streamline the process. It’ll be much more efficient, actually.”

“Not for me,” Dany argues. She closes her eyes briefly, just picturing the piles of extra work she’s already taken on, the endless emails in her inbox. She loves her job, and she’ll do whatever she can to save this company, but she can’t live off of nights like last night. If she completely burns herself out, she’ll be no use to anyone.

“Olenna, you know I’ll do whatever I can for this company,” Dany says. “But I genuinely don’t know if I have time to take that on.”

“Oh, you don’t, most definitely,” Olenna says, shaking her head succinctly. “Let’s be honest, Daenerys. You don’t have time to do everything you’re doing _now._ I know you stay here much later than anyone else, and that you spend half your weekends working as well.” Dany doesn’t say anything, because it’s true. “But I’ve been thinking,” Olenna continues. “Missandei’s abilities are being _vastly_ underused as your assistant. I think it would be in this company’s best interest if we start giving more of your responsibilities to her. I’d like her to start transitioning into a leader on the PR team.” Olenna just blinks at her, her expression dead-set. “If we give her all the work from coordinating the new outreach programs that you were going to do, I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to fit this Jon Snow into your schedule. Agreed?”

From the look on Olenna’s face, Dany can tell there is no room for argument here, so she just nods.

“Is he still here?” Margaery asks, eyes flitting to Dany. She nods wordlessly. “Can I come with you, to meet with him? I’d like to talk about what marketing is planning for him.”

“Of course,” Dany agrees. If someone has to deal with Jon Snow’s stubbornness, better Margaery than her.

The two women leave Olenna’s office together, heels clicking on the tile as they walk back to the conference room Jon is still in. “I should warn you,” Dany says, giving Margaery a look. “Despite the fact that he cannot run his own social media account, he is adamant on not just reposting whatever we give him. He’s made it clear that he will be coming up with the posts, and that he’s only posting about items that he truly does like.”

“Gods, he sounds like a pain in the arse,” Margaery huffs, and Dany can’t help but smile. “More men who think they know better than us to deal with.”

“I don’t think it’s that,” Dany says. “He just insists on being _infuriatingly_ stubborn. He is very hung up on only speaking the truth.”

“Well, he’s probably the only person in this world,” Margaery says, as they round the corner to the conference room, Jon clearly visible through the glass walls. “Oh, but he _is_ handsome.”

Dany snorts, no time to get a response in before Margaery is pulling the door open, Jon’s head snapping up at the arrival of the two women. “Hello, Jon?” Margaery asks, offering a hand and a warm smile. “Margaery Tyrell, head of marketing. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” Jon returns, eyes darting between them, and Dany doesn’t miss the flash of nerves behind his façade of stoic calmness. There’s the briefest second where he looks almost like a caged animal, before the spark of fear in his eyes fades, his mouth hardening into that pensive straight line.

He looks _very_ pretty brooding, she must admit.

Margaery sits across from Jon, Dany taking the seat next to her, letting the other woman take the lead. Margaery has a warm smile across her face that looks genuine to people who don’t know her— but Dany has worked with her for years, and she can tell the act she’s putting on. Margaery is just as fierce as Dany, just as determined to get what she wants, but she goes about it with a softness Dany can never seem to find. She is every bit the thorny rose— beautiful and sweet with that hidden sharpness, so that you don’t even realize you’ve given into her until it’s too late. Dany, on the other hand, has always relied on fire and blood to get things done.

“So, Daenerys has been telling me about you,” Margaery says, sweet smile still directed right at Jon. “And I don’t think it should be a problem that you don’t know how to do everything marketing had planned for your sponsorship.” Dany almost laughs at that enormous understatement, trying not to smirk as Jon visibly relaxes, dropping some of the tension held in his shoulders. _This_ is why Margaery is fantastic at her job. She has a way with words that lets her bend anyone to her will.

“And I understand you very much want to make sure the content your followers see is authentic to you, and your words,” she adds. Jon nods, folding his arms.

“Aye. I don’t want to tell the people that follow Ghost’s account to go buy somethin’ if I think it’s useless,” he says. “I’m here because I want to help more people get out there, find the beauty still left in the world. Not as a corporate mouthpiece.”

Margaery smiles delightedly, leaning forward. “And that’s why we want you on the team. To help people find that beauty, and to move them towards saving it, preserving the environment.” She smiles again, looking over to Dany. “Daenerys has agreed to handle your sponsorship directly. Marketing still has a strategy that we’ll want you to stick with, loosely— giveaways, Q&A’s with your followers, instagram lives— but the content will be yours, supervised by Daenerys. And she will show you how to do everything, don’t worry.” Margaery flashes him another charming smile. “She’s exceptionally talented. You’re in very good hands, I promise.” Jon just looks at her, his expression unreadable, before his eyes flit back to Dany, meeting hers. She may want to strangle this man with her bare hands, but there is still something in his eyes that pulls her in— an alluring mystery buried deep in those warm brown irises, begging her to dive in and stay there forever.

“Alright,” Margaery says, looking back to Dany. “Daenerys, I’ll send you everything from marketing we have so far, and copy you on all future emails. Unfortunately, I have another meeting to run off to.” She stands up, turning back to Jon, offering him her hand once again. “Jon, it was lovely to meet you. I’m very much looking forward to working with you this next season.”

“Nice to meet you too, Margaery,” Jon returns, taking her hand and shaking it. She flashes him one last dazzling smile before she’s out of the room, door swinging closed behind her.

Silence fills the room again as the door shuts with a soft hiss, Jon’s eyes resting on hers. There’s a softness to them now, a hint of remorse in the way his lips twist to the side.

“I’m sorry, Daenerys,” he says, and she blinks, taken back by how sincere he sounds. “Really. I should have told you I can’t use social media before I signed that contract.”

She sighs, shrugging her shoulders. There’s nothing to do about it now. “Yes, probably,” she agrees. “But regardless, we move forward. Let’s set up your account as a business account so I can get those numbers to marketing.” She nods towards the seat next to her, and Jon stands, phone in hand as he walks around to her side of the conference table. Dany can’t help the way her eyes slide over his body when he turns from her— the way that grey henley hugs his broad shoulders, his dark curls just brushing the collar of his shirt, how his fitted black jeans accentuate his arse. She feels almost bad objectifying him, but _gods,_ he has a nice arse. His attractiveness only makes her more agitated, though, knowing how infuriatingly _stubborn_ he truly is, how much extra work and headache he’s going to cause her in the coming months.

“Alright,” she says, once Jon has taken the seat next to her. “It’s really quite simple to switch over. If you go into settings, and click on ‘account,’ there should be an option to switch to a business account. I think it might require a business email, but we can take that option off your profile if you want, so that people aren’t emailing you.”

“Alright,” Jon says, opening instagram and then staring at the screen. “Uh… where is settings again?”

Dany tries not to groan, just squeezing her eyes closed briefly. Gods, this is _so_ below her pay grade. There is definitely an intern _somewhere_ in this company that could be doing this for her right now.

“Go to your profile,” Dany says, watching Jon try to process that, before finally reaching over, pointing out the button in the corner of his screen. “Then hit those bars up in the top right corner. Settings should be listed at the bottom now.” He nods, following her step-by-step instructions, until Ghost’s account is successfully listed as a business, the small grey description listing him as a _pet_ underneath his username signifying the switch.

“Alright,” Dany says, glancing at the time. “I need to get your demographics still, so marketing can finish their plan. In the meantime— you know you’ll receive everything from our upcoming lines that you’re signed with. But if there’s anything else you want that you think would benefit you and Ghost, we’ll get that for you as well.” She pulls up a new tab on her laptop, pushing it towards Jon.

“Here’s our complete catalog. Write down the product numbers of anything you’d like,” she tells him, tearing a piece of paper from her notebook, sliding it and a pen over. Jon blinks at her, his stoic expression betraying him for just a moment, and she sees the surprise in his eyes.

“Really?” he says, looking at her apprehensively. She nods.

“Really. I’ll trade you,” she says, nodding towards his phone. He just looks at her, before handing her his unlocked phone, taking her laptop in exchange.

The silence that falls over them is almost comfortable, the only sounds in the room the soft clicking of Dany’s keyboard as Jon scrolls through the catalog on the site. She looks through all his insights, copying down the numbers marketing wanted onto her own phone as quickly as she can, trying not to think about the mountains of work still waiting for her after this. There are _so_ many better ways that she could be spending the only free hour of her day. Copying down numbers because their new sponsor is incapable of figuring them out himself is not her idea of effective time management.

She’s just about finished recording everything listed in the email when a text notification rolls down, covering the top half of his screen. She tries not to look— it feels like an invasion of privacy, though she’s sure about thirty email notifications have popped up on her laptop while Jon has been scrolling through, but her eyes read the name of the sender before she can stop herself. _Arya,_ it says, with no last name after it.

“You have a text,” Dany tells him, offering his phone back. His brow furrows, taking it from her to read the message, before his expression relaxes.

“Just my sister,” he says. “She wants to know if I’ll still be on time to leave for the riverlands when we were planning on it.” He glances at the time, before looking up, meeting her eyes again. “Uh, are we almost done? I can stay later, if you need me to.”

Dany shakes her head. “No, I have another meeting right after this.” _For actual important things,_ she leaves unsaid, that thought only appropriate to utter in her mind. She glances down at the paper she had given him, frowning when she sees it is empty. “Is there really nothing from our catalog you want?” she says, raising a brow at him.

Jon looks sheepish, eyes darting back to her computer. ‘I don’t know,” he says, and Dany can see the tent he has pulled up on the screen, his eyes lingering on it. “I already have a tent, even if it’s not as nice. And yours is expensive. I don’t want to overstep—”

“Jon, please,” Dany says, rolling her eyes. “In the budget of this company, this hardly matters. Get the damn tent.” He just looks at her, eyes still conflicted, and she sighs. Back to being stubbornly noble, she supposes.

“I’m going to email you the link to this catalog,” she tells him, taking her laptop back, fingers flying over the keys as she composes a new email. “The next time we meet, I expect you to have a full list of all our products that you want. Don’t worry about the prices,” she says, though she can tell from his expression that isn’t likely. “Just worry about whether or not it will help you.” She looks down at the blank piece of paper next to him. “Give me your contact information.” He nods, scribbling down a phone number and an email, before handing it over, watching her tuck it into her things.

A knock sounds at the door, Loras poking his head in. “Sorry, Daenerys, I have this room booked for noon,” he tells her. She nods, standing immediately, watching Jon do the same out of the corner of her eye.

“I’d show you out, but I have another meeting starting right now,” Dany says to him, only slightly apologetic. “Do you remember how to get down to reception?”

“Down the elevator, at the end of the hall there, right?” he clarifies. Dany nods, holding the door open for him, Loras flashing them both a smile as he enters after they’ve left.

“Good to see you again, Jon. I’ll be in touch soon,” Dany says. _In order to coordinate your next social media lesson, which is apparently under my job description now,_ she thinks bitterly, but Jon misses her aggravation, giving her a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Bye, Daenerys,” he returns, before he’s leaving, her eyes following his retreating back down the hall.

“I see what you mean,” Dany hears Margaery say, and she turns, finding the other woman leaning against the glass wall of the conference room.  “Not an arsehole, particularly, just stubbornly good-intentioned. Still as aggravating to deal with. But that _accent, gods._ It makes me wish more Northerners would leave that desolate wasteland and come down here so I could listen to them talk all day. _”_

Dany laughs at that, because Margaery _does_ have a point. As aggravating and stubborn as Jon Snow is, that Northern brogue is infuriatingly attractive.

“I’d be much more infatuated with it if I didn’t have to teach him how to use his own damn phone,” Dany grumbles. Margaery pulls a sympathetic face, her pretty mouth pursing to the side.

“I know, Daenerys. It’s absolute bullshit, that you have to deal with all of that. I know you have about four million other things that are higher priority.” She reaches over, squeezing Dany’s hand comfortingly. “But I truly believe using him as a sponsor will get us that new audience we need. Help boost sales enough to get our environmental-saving programs back to where they should be. I wouldn’t insist on having him if I didn’t believe that.”

“I’m not happy about it, but if it’s for the outreach programs, I’ll do it,” she tells Margaery. And she means it. Twelve hour workdays, taking on extra responsibilities, dealing with Jon Snow— she’ll put up with much more to save the foundations this company was built on.

“I will as well,” Margaery assures her, giving her a genuine smile, not one of the falsely bright ones she’d flashed at Jon earlier. “If there is _anything_ I can help with, or anyone from my team can help with, let me know. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Thank you,” Dany says, returning Margaery’s smile. A tapping sound echoes on the glass behind them, and they turn, seeing Loras pointing to his watch angrily, before shooting Margaery an exasperated look.

“Duty calls,” Margaery says, flashing Dany one last smile. “I’ll see you later.” Dany returns the sentiment, before Margaery pulls open the door, rolling her eyes at her brother as she takes her seat.

Dany ruminates over Margaery’s words as she walks back to her desk, letting them stew in her mind. Yes, she will do whatever needs to be done for this company, regardless of if it’s below her pay grade, or she has a million other things to do. She’ll do anything for their environment-saving programs. But that doesn’t mean she has to be happy about it.

She makes it back to her office, Missandei working dutifully away at her desk right outside. Dany perches on the edge of Missandei’s desk, staring off into the distance as her friend looks up at her, amused. “If I murdered someone, you would help me hide the body, wouldn’t you?” Dany asks. Missandei gives her an incredulous look, but she nods anyways.

“Of course I would,” she answers. “Why? Is there a dead body in the conference room right now?”

“Not yet,” Dany says, scowling. She turns towards her best friend, and Missandei smirks at her. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

“No,” Missandei says, shrugging. Dany nods, mind made up.

“Perfect. Let’s go get drunk.”

***

The bar Missandei and Irri choose is dark and crowded, music thumping from the stage in the corner, where lights flash, illuminating the DJ. Dany tugs at the black top Irri had practically forced her into, adjusting the plunging neckline to just barely show the lacy edge of her scarlet bralette. Her lips are painted a matching shade of fiery red, the same hue as her heels too. “Let it be,” Missandei tells her with a smile, tugging Dany further into the bar, ushering her down to an empty stretch at the end of the counter.

“You look gorgeous,” Irri assures her, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder as the three of them take the last empty seats at the bar.

“Pick your poison,” Missandei tells her, flagging down the bartender.

“Vodka,” Dany decides, nodding succinctly. If they do tequila shots, she knows she’ll feel like absolute shit all day tomorrow, and even though it’s Saturday, she has work she still needs to get done.

“Three vodka shots, please,” Missandei tells the man with a smile. He slaps three shot glasses down on the bar, pouring them out before Missandei hands over her credit card. The three of them take their glasses, clinking them. “To Missandei’s imminent promotion,” Dany says, tipping her head towards her friend.

“And to Daenerys’s imminent stress-induced migraine,” Missandei follows, smirking. Irri laughs before the three of them down the shots. Dany grimaces as the liquid burns down her throat, slamming the glass back down on the bar with more force than strictly necessary. With a groan, she lets her forehead drop down onto the glossy wood of the bar, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Gods, she can’t even remember the last work week that felt anywhere near this long.

“Oh, Dany, don’t,” Irri says, tugging on her shoulder until Dany’s head is off the bar. “Gods know what’s been on that.”

“Alright, babe. Let it all out,” Missandei says, flagging down the bartender for another round.

“Stupid fucking _Jon Snow,”_ Dany groans, pulling a face at her friends. “Why is the universe so _hells bent_ on punishing me? Was I a mass murderer in an alternate universe or something?”

“What exactly is going on?” Irri asks, her brow furrowing. “I’ve only heard bits of it.”

“Marketing is insisting on adding a dog with over two million followers on instagram as one of our brand ambassadors for the next two quarters, to ‘reach new audiences with our products,’” Dany quotes, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “However, his owner doesn't know how to use Instagram, and somehow _I_ have been put in charge of _handling_ him. Despite the fact that I have about a million other things I should be spending my time on.” She turns to Missandei, her expression losing its bitterness. “You being promoted is the only good thing about this entire mess. You deserve it more than anything.”

“Thank you,” Missandei says, smile sweet. “Though I pity whoever replaces me and has to deal with your schedule.”

“There’ll be a few months before that,” Dany says. “Olenna said I should begin _transitioning_ you. Which basically just means you’ll be picking up all my extra work, unfortunately.”

“So per usual,” Missandei laughs. Dany nods, flashing the bartender a quick smile as he refills their shot glasses, all three women clinking glasses again before downing their drinks.

“So how much do I have to bribe you to take on instagram lesson responsibilities?” Dany asks, and Missandei’s face blanches.

“I love you, Daenerys, but I don’t love you that much,” she says. Irri’s brow furrows, eyes darting between the two of them.

“Is he awful or something?” Irri asks. “Why don’t you want to deal with him?”

Dany pauses, considering. “He’s not _awful,_ really,” she says. “He’s stubborn. And annoyingly righteous. He insists on only speaking of products he actually likes, and he won’t speak untruthfully of anything on his account. When I told him that lying was practically the basis of advertisement, he looked at me like I had just killed a puppy.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“It just seems like such a waste, to have to spend my time teaching him to use his own phone,” Dany huffs. “I have so many other things to do that are much more important. And instead I’m stuck doing something _way_ below my pay grade.”

“Well, as aggravating as that is, it could be worse, then,” Irri says, shrugging. “He could be a sexist pig.” Dany snorts, nodding, because that is true. As stubborn and irritating as Jon Snow is, at least he’s not an arsehole.

“I suppose,” Dany says. Still. Thinking about how much worse it could be doesn’t necessarily make her feel any better.

“And it also doesn’t hurt that he is _very_ attractive,” Missandei adds. Irri’s eyes go wide, turning to Dany with a sly smile playing at her lips.

“You didn’t mention _that,”_ Irri says. “How attractive? Are there pictures?”

“Well, he’s Northern,” Missandei starts, smirking. Irri sighs, her expression growing dreamy.

“Oh, Northern accents,” she sighs. “Now I want to meet him; I don’t think I’ve ever heard a Northerner in real life since I moved here from Essos. What else? Tall, dark, and handsome?”

“Not that tall, actually,” Dany volunteers. As much as she does _not_ want to keep talking about Jon Snow, he’s suddenly filling her mind, the image of him on the café patio flooding her memories: sun silhouetted behind his halo of curls, the warmth in his brown eyes as he’d met hers for the first time.

“Here,” Missandei says, handing over her phone, and Dany catches a glimpse of one of Ghost’s posts, Jon’s face on full display in it.

 _“Maisi Krazaaji,_ Daenerys,” Irri squeals. “You’re complaining about working with _him?!”_

“I never said he wasn’t attractive,” Dany defends. “I just said he was stubborn, and aggravating, and a complete _pain in my arse.”_ That alone cancels out any flurry of attraction she may or may not feel towards him.

“Gods, he’s gorgeous,” Irri sighs. “So rugged. And he _rocks_ a man bun. Unlike most of my exes,” she says, with a roll of her eyes.

“Alright, enough,” Dany says, cutting off her friends’ fawning. “I said we should go out tonight because I wanted a distraction from Jon Snow, not to hear you two fawn over him. Distract me.”

Missandei turns to Irri, giving her a look. “Any suggestions?”

Irri shrugs. “Maybe the two guys down there who won’t stop staring at Daenerys?”

Dany groans as Missandei gasps in delight, her head turning towards the other end of the bar. There are indeed two guys eyeing their group, huddled together, eyes predatory. “The one on the right is _cute,”_ Irri says, turning towards Dany. Her friend isn’t wrong— the man staring her down is tall, well dressed, his light hair neatly groomed— but Dany doesn’t have any interest in that.

“No thank you,” she says, shaking her head, nodding towards the bartender to refill their shot glasses. “You both know I don’t have time for that.”

“Oh, please, Daenerys, we’re not saying you have to marry him,” Missandei says. “You don’t even have to _date_ him.”

“I tried casual, and it didn’t work,” she insists. The bartender finishes with their next round, and Dany takes it immediately, not waiting for her friends. She shakes her head, caught up in past memories suddenly. _Didn’t work_ is a bit of an understatement, she supposes. Daario was supposed to be just a distraction, just purely physical. She had never expected something more from a man like him, as self-interested and unapologetic about it as he was. And while she had enjoyed his company, she had never truly felt anything for him— not the way he had felt for her, in the end. He’d been heartbroken, devastated when it was over, swearing he would change his ways, that he loved her— and Dany had felt nothing, just impatience to be rid of him.

Something had broken inside of her after Drogo, and even now, she’s not sure there’s any fixing it.

“Dany,” Irri says, voice soft. “You can’t let him haunt you forever.” But she doesn’t want to hear that now, doesn’t want to think of the implications of her friend’s words.

“I need a different distraction,” Dany says, leaning over to take Irri’s untouched shot, dodging her friend’s attempt to slap her hand away and downing the vodka in one gulp. “Let’s go dance.” She can feel the buzz of the alcohol starting to take effect, the lights in the room growing brighter, the music sounding even more enticing.

“Alright,” Missandei says with a smirk, standing and offering Dany a hand. She only wobbles a little as she gains her footing in her heels, her two friends leading her out onto the crowded dance floor.

“I don’t need any _man,”_ Dany tells them, taking their hands, the three of them falling into the rhythm of the music, jumping in time with the beat together. She smiles at her two best friends, and they grin back, crowding in closer to her. “I just need you two.”

“And you’ll always have us,” Irri promises, dropping a kiss on Dany’s cheek, and all of them laugh, letting the music take control.

Dany’s not sure how long they stay at the club, but they dance and drink until she can’t feel her feet anymore, head buzzing pleasantly from all the shots and lips aching from smiling so much. When she climbs into her bed afterwards, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion curling up against her immediately, all thoughts of stubborn Jon Snow are gone.

***

Jon can hear the excited thump of Ghost’s tail against the backseat of the car the entire ride to Arya’s.

He can’t help but agree with his dog’s enthusiasm— it had been a long week with _way_ more life changing decisions than he had anticipated, and a weekend hiking in the riverlands with his sister and their dogs is becoming more and more enticing by the minute. He finds he doesn’t even care about the long drive ahead of them, the thought of open road and sprawling countryside well worth it.

Arya is waiting for him as soon as he pulls up in front of her place; Ghost barks in greeting to his sister as Jon climbs out of his car, opening the back so that Nymeria can jump in. She leaps in gracefully, bumping her head against Ghost in greeting before she turns to Jon, shoving her snout into his hand, demanding attention.

“Hi, girl,” Jon laughs, scratching behind her dark ears, smiling as she licks at his wrist. He turns to his sister, her small duffel bag in hand. “You got everything?”

“Just my clothes,” Arya answers, tucking the bag into the front seat, seeing as the back row is collapsed so the dogs have more room. “You still have all my gear, right?”

“Aye, it’s up top,” Jon says, nodding towards the storage container on top of the car. Arya has her own set of camping things, but ever since she started the process of moving, he’s been keeping all her stuff at his place.

“Alright then,” Arya says, giving Nymeria a last pat on the head. “Let’s go, then. It’s a long drive to Riverrun.”

Jon nods, smiling as Ghost whines, nudging his hand away from Nymeria so that he can scratch behind his ears. He ruffles the fur on his dog’s head, giving Ghost one last pat down his flank before he pushes both dogs back gently, closing the trunk door. Arya climbs into the passenger seat as Jon starts the car, pulling away from her apartment as his sister snags the aux cord, plugging it into her phone.

“I’m DJing,” she informs him, and Jon laughs.

“I wouldn’t expect anythin’ else.”

The long drive doesn’t seem as long with just the two of them in the car, afternoon sunshine spilling in through the windows and a warm, midsummer breeze ruffling their hair. Ghost and Nymeria had stuck their heads out the windows for the first hour or so, before the two of them had curled up in the back together, falling fast asleep on top of the blankets Jon had laid down across the back of the car. Riverrun is hardly the longest drive they’ve ever done, and they’re lucky that the dogs don’t mind the car at all.

“Where’s your phone?” Arya asks him, Jon taking his eyes off the road to look at her for a brief second. Empty highway stretches before them, the rolling golden green fields of the crownlands reaching as far as he can see.

“It’s in the console, I think,” Jon says. “Why?”

“Because someone has to update your instagram story,” Arya says, bumping his arm gently so that he will move it out of the way, snagging his phone from the center console as soon as she has room. “Especially since you’re now a social media _influencer.”_

Jon groans. “Gods, can we maybe not talk about that this weekend?” he asks. Arya laughs, turning in her seat to snap a picture of their dogs, curled together.

“Oh, we are most _definitely_ talking about that this weekend,” she says. “Didn’t you have to meet with the PR woman again this morning? What’s her name again?”

“Daenerys,” Jon answers, trying to focus on the road ahead, not picture Daenerys in his mind. He fails miserably, though— his thoughts are suddenly filled with her sea blue eyes, her moonglow curls, the fiery spark of determination in her that has him both enthralled and terrified.

“Daenerys,” Arya says, nodding. “So how did it go?”

Jon sighs, knowing there’s no way to keep this from Arya. “Well,” he starts. “She found out I couldn’t use my instagram account, so. That wasn’t the best start.”

Arya doesn’t say anything— instead she slaps his arm, making Jon’s mouth fall open indignantly.

“Arya!” he chides. “What the hell was that for?”

“You _told_ her you can’t use your own account?” she demands, pulling a face at him. “Jon, you _idiot!”_

“What was I supposed to do?” he demands. “She was askin’ me for all sorts of things— insights, and… follower demographics, or some other bloody thing— I couldn’t just sit there and refuse to give it to her!”

“Well, what was her reaction?” Arya asks. Jon sighs, shrugging slightly.

“First she laughed at me,” Jon says. “She thought I was joking. And then she looked so mad, I thought she might actually strangle me.” He can still picture the fire in her eyes, the air of power still about her making her seem more like a dragon than a woman in her rage.

“But she didn’t, clearly,” Arya finishes. “So now what? Do you still have the job?”

“Aye,” he assures her. “She left the room for a minute, and came back with another woman— Margaery, I think her name was— who was the head of marketing. The other woman didn’t seem to have a problem with the fact that I can’t work this bloody app, and said we’d go on as planned.”

Arya leans back in her seat, relaxing a little. “That’s good, at least. So what are they going to do? Am I going to be running your account for you during this?”

“No,” Jon says, throwing her a look, at which she just smirks. “I do know how to post pictures, you know. All the other stuff they’re having me do, Daenerys is supposed to show me how to do. She’s in charge of… handling me, I guess.”

 _“Handling_ you?” Arya asks with a laugh. “What are you, a toddler that needs to be babysat?”

Jon huffs in laughter, because that was certainly the way Daenerys had looked at him at Margaery’s words. “Apparently so,” he tells her. “Daenerys was less than pleased with the idea as well.”

“She sort of sounds like a bitch,” Arya says, mouth pulling into a frown. “First she laughs at you, and then she gets all pissed off when she finds out she has to show you how to do something? Isn’t she the one who wanted you to be a spokesperson?” Jon shakes his head immediately, eyes still fixed ahead on the road.

“No, she’s not a bitch,” he says. “She’s just busy, I’m sure, and she doesn’t want to have to deal with teachin’ me to use something that I should know how to use. I don’t blame her for being aggravated.” He pauses, shrugging. “She’s passionate about what she does. You can tell she really loves it. And I’m sort of… messin’ that up. Pullin’ her away from what she wants to be working on.” Arya remains silent, so he continues on, trying to put into words what he sees in Daenerys Targaryen. “She’s a hardass, definitely. But it’s because she cares about what she’s doing. She’s got a good heart.”

“She’s got a _good heart?”_ Arya asks, incredulous. He turns to look at her, briefly, catching a glimpse of the teasing smirk stretching across her face.

“What?” he asks, voice defensive. Arya just shakes her head, looking at him with a mix of sympathy and mirth.

“Jon, Jon, Jon,” she clucks, and he glares at her, at the teasing lilt of her voice. “You poor bastard. You _like_ her, don’t you?”

“Oh, _please,_ Arya,” he grumbles. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s practically my boss.”

“And that doesn’t change the fact that you _definitely_ fancy her,” Arya says. He shakes his head again, denying Arya’s accusations, but he can feel the heat flooding his cheeks, just thinking about Daenerys again. She’s beautiful, obviously. But that spark of fire in her, that powerful glint in her gorgeous eyes— it’s intoxicating, tugging him in against his will, like a powerful wave crashing over him, leaving him helpless to her pull.

“Gods, she must really be something. When’s the last time you actually showed interest in a woman?” Arya asks. He glares again at that, eyes still fixed on the highway ahead.

“Bein’ interested in a woman is different than dating one. And you know every time I try that, it ends in fuckin’ disaster,” he grits out. Arya shrugs, smirking still.

“My point exactly. What’s her full name again?”

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon tells her, brow furrowing in confusion. “Why?”

Arya remains suspiciously silent, so he glances over at her quickly, seeing her typing away at his phone. Jon hadn’t even realized she still had it. “Arya, what are you doing?” he demands. She doesn’t look up, eyes fixated on the phone in her hand.

“I’m stalking her on instagram,” she says, as if that is something he should have expected. She gasps, shooting Jon a sly look. “Is she very blonde?” He just nods, eyes staring forward determinedly.

“Alright, I can see it,” Arya says after a moment, nodding. “She is _gorgeous._ And she sounds just as stubborn as you are, which we all know is definitely a quality you look for in women.”

“You found her?” Jon demands, eyes coming off the road to glance down briefly. Arya laughs.

“Of course I did. Not everyone is as incompetent with social media as you are, dear brother.”

Arya falls silent again, but that just makes Jon more nervous, the desire to reach over and tear his phone from her hands growing by the second. “Arya, stop it,” he chides, but she just shakes her head, still scrolling.

“There doesn’t seem to be a boyfriend, unless she just never posts about him,” Arya tells him. “And you should be thanking me, really. I’m doing important research for you.”

“I’m about to _strangle_ you, not thank you,” Jon grumbles, but Arya just smirks, knowing how empty his threat is.

“Oh! She followed you back,” Arya announces, grinning triumphantly. Jon blanches, turning towards his sister again.

“What do you mean, followed me _back?”_ he demands. “Arya, what did you do?”

“I followed her from Ghost’s account,” she says, as if that is the natural thing to do in this situation. “Seeing as you’re going to be working together. It makes sense. And now you can go stare at her photos longingly whenever you want.”

“Alright, enough,” Jon says, voice steely. “Give me the phone back or you can walk the rest of the way to Riverrun.”

Arya listens to that, putting his phone back in the center cup holder, reaching behind her to scratch Nymeria’s head, her dog waking. “How much longer?” Arya asks, as Ghost rises too, standing to poke his head between their two seats.

“A little over an hour,” he tells her, raising a hand to scratch Ghost’s head, his other hand steady on the wheel. “We’re just about to the riverlands.”

The rest of the drive goes quickly, the land around them growing greener the further into the riverlands they get. Soon they’re on the edge of Riverrun, right at the beginning of the trail through the mountains and rivers that they always hike.

“Every time we come to Riverrun, I always think we should visit Uncle Edmure,” Arya muses, stretching like a cat as she climbs out of the car. “But then I remember how much he annoys me, and I remember why we don’t.”

Jon laughs. “Pretty sure I wouldn’t be welcomed into the Tully house anyways, with the way your mother feels about me,” he says, pulling the trunk door open so the dogs can hop out. Ghost and Nymeria both leap down gracefully, Ghost chasing after his sister, both of them barking gleefully at finally being set free.

“I still don’t understand why she’s such an _arse_ about that,” Arya grumbles. Catelyn has never liked him, since the day he was small and started living with his aunt and uncle and their children. Ned had always felt bad, tried to explain to Jon the bad blood between his wife and his sister Lyanna, but to this day, Jon still doesn’t completely understand his aunt’s hatred towards him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jon says with a shrug. He’d long ago accepted there was no way of changing his aunt’s feelings. And with how close he and his siblings are, it doesn’t matter all that much to him anyways. His eyes wander to his dog, still racing around the clearing. “Ghost! Get back here!”

The trail through the mountains by the Whispering Wood has always been one of Jon’s favorites— it’s not a difficult hike, but it’s breathtakingly beautiful, the views of the sprawling green riverlands from the tops of the peaks captivating. The sunshine glints off of the many mountain streams, Ghost and Nymeria splashing through them all happily, tails wagging endlessly. They make it back to the car right at dusk, the stars beginning to twinkle above as they drive through the mountain range to the campsite on the other side, right by the shores of Ironman’s Bay. Arya helps him take the tents down from the top of the car, setting them up next to each other, before she starts working on a fire for them, Jon dragging over a log for them to sit on.

“C’mere, Ghost,” Jon says once he sits down, watching his dog lope over to him. Ghost’s paws are filthy, his snout flecked with mud from his many romps through the rivers, but Jon hugs him all the same, burying his face in his thick white fur.

“We have to wash your paws off before you’re allowed in the tent,” he murmurs against Ghost’s fur, but his dog seems oblivious, stepping back so he can poke Jon in the face with his nose, licking his cheek roughly. He laughs, ruffling his ears as Ghost chuffs at him, flopping down across his feet and basking in the warmth of the fire Arya had just started. He looks up to see his sister watching him, a little smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

“What?” Jon asks, brow furrowing. She shakes her head, her smile growing a little wider.

“It’s nothing. Sometimes I…” she looks down, away from him, before her dark eyes dart up to meet his again. “Sometimes I think back to how you were a few years ago, and I just… I’m really glad you’re better now.” Jon remains silent as Arya comes to sit next to him, but once she is next to him, he reaches over and takes her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. He doesn’t like to think back to those times, to the darkness that had nearly swallowed him whole, but his siblings’ support through the ordeal had been one of the few things that managed to pull him out of that hole. That, and the dog currently sprawled across his feet.

“I am too,” Jon whispers to her, barely loud enough to hear, and when he meets Arya’s eyes, the pain of his past doesn’t seem as all-encompassing as it generally does.

In the morning they hike down to the beach, the dogs racing ahead of them across the rocky coast and into the waves. Arya laughs and chases after them, swiping a stick off the beach so she can play fetch with them along the shore.

Jon watches his sister and the two dogs frolicking through the water, pulling his camera from his bag to take a few pictures of them. It’s a really nice one— all his siblings had chipped in together to get it for him a few namedays ago— and Arya has it set up so that whenever he has internet, all the photos connect to his phone automatically.

“Keeping your followers up to date?” Arya asks, finally tossing the stick, the dogs racing down the beach after it. Jon chuckles.

“Aye. I guess I sort of have to now, don’t I?”

“Are you supposed to start posting for Tyrell yet?” she asks, picking her way across the rocky shore and back to her brother. Jon shakes his head, fidgeting with the camera.

“Not yet. They’re going to give me all their products from the new line first.” He pulls a face, remembering what else Daenerys told him. “And I’m supposed to go through their catalog, tell Daenerys anythin’ else I want for free.”

Arya’s eyes widen. “For _free?”_ He just nods. “Why do you look so unhappy about that? I’ll give you a list of things _I_ want for free.”

Jon shrugs, still a little unsettled by that part of the meeting this morning. “I don’t know. It just makes me feel like a charity case, I guess. Or like I’m bein’ bought.”

Arya pulls a face at him. “You kind of are, Jon. That’s sort of what a sponsorship is.”

He sighs, looking down at the camera in his hand, at the photo displayed on the screen: Ghost jumping up to grab at the stick in Arya’s hand as Nymeria wags her tail impatiently, waiting for his sister to throw it.

“I know,” Jon says, looking up from his camera, at the actual view in front of him. He shakes his head, taking in the crashing waves, the way the sunlight sparkles on the water. Of course the pictures he took are beautiful, but there’s something about seeing these views in _person_ that just can’t be replicated.

“I just hope that this is worth it,” he says finally, and Arya’s head turns towards him, listening. “There’s so much fucking awful stuff in the world,” he continues. “I just hope that this helps more people find the beauty out there. And not just through a photo. In real life as well.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s naïve of me to assume, but I just want people to discover this for themselves.”

“I know,” Arya says, her expression softened, that usual teasing glint of her eyes gone. “And I know why you’re wary of this sponsorship. I would be too.” She rests a hand on his shoulder, smiling at him. “But you’re going into this knowing what you want to do. And I have faith you’ll be able to do just that.”

Jon’s eyes fall downwards again, to the camera in his hands. He hopes Arya is right more than anything. Even if Daenerys half terrifies him, he’ll fight her tooth and nail to make sure that this sponsorship is doing good for the people following Ghost, not just for her company.

Barks echo down the beach as Ghost and Nymeria come racing back, sand coating their paws and the stick from earlier grasped tightly in Ghost’s jaw. His dog drops his prize at Arya’s feet, prancing back and forth excitedly as Arya picks it up, smirking at the dogs’ excitement.

“Alright, you beasts, let’s go,” she says, taking off across the beach again. Ghost and Nymeria chase after her, barking in excitement, sand flying underneath their paws. She flings the stick as far as she can, both dogs tearing after it.

“You coming, Jon?” she asks, turning to face him, a smirk playing at her face.

Jon smiles and puts down his camera, following his sister and their dogs into the wilderness.

***

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48005351607/in/dateposted-public/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The camera pans back to the dogs, now barking and frolicking through the surf. Dany ignores them, though, taking in instead the landscape around them. The rocky beaches, the perfect blue sky, sunlight shimmering on the water as waves crash and fall against the shore— it’s easy to see why Jon is so captivated. She’s captivated too, and she’s only seeing it through a tiny screen as she sits at her island, sipping coffee. Her mind is filled with thoughts of those gorgeous views of the western seashore, the bright blue of the sky behind Jon’s profile, his strong, bearded jaw and his stray curls whipping in the wind. 
> 
> Maybe she’ll go for a walk, later. Or a hike. Not a very long one, but she was going to go run anyways. Maybe she’ll drive to the Kingswood and hike one of the smaller trails there. It’s strange, the sudden and complete effect that Jon’s instagram story has over her, but seeing that ease in his expression, that spark of light in his eyes— she wants to feel that for herself, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the longer wait, but I am back with a BEAST of a chapter for you. (Seriously, I think this thing is 20k.) I wanna say that the rest of the chapters probably won't be this long, but I have a habit of getting carried away while I write (see also: what happened with this chapter) and there was just no good place to cut this one, so. Sorry not sorry for my overabundance of words. 
> 
> Thanks bunches to the lovely Fer who read through this for me and snapped me all her hilarious reactions. I really like this chapter a lot, y'all. I hope you do too! 
> 
> There might be a bit of a longer wait for the next one, just because I'm gonna try to get some things written for Jonerys week next week and then I'll be on vacation. If the wait gets too long, though, I will have a sneak peek up on my tumblr, which is stilesssolo! 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think of this, and I hope you enjoy it!! Happy reading :)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48087149326/in/dateposted-public/)

Dany wakes up the next morning to a cat on her face.

“Drogon,” she grumbles, her temple already throbbing dully from all the shots last night. The last thing she needs is her cat kneading his paws into her face to make her headache worse.

She doesn’t even open her eyes, swatting away the offender with one hand, an indignant _meow_ answering her. She turns over, opening her eyes blearily, coming face to face with Rhaegal’s pale green eyes, the silver cat curled up on her other pillow.

“Good morning, love,” she murmurs, leaning over to kiss him on the tip of his nose. He mewls at her, standing as Drogon maneuvers in between the two of them, treading on her loose hair. She can feel Viserion moving by her feet, picking his way across the mattress to come paw at her face as well. She groans, flipping over to see the clock on her bedside table, knowing that if even her mellowest cat is bugging her, it must be much past their feeding time.

Eleven thirty, her clock reads. Generally Dany wakes up before six.

“Alright, alright,” she mumbles, sitting up slowly after disentangling Drogon from her messy hair. “Come on, you beasts. It’s breakfast time.”

After their food bowls have been filled and their water replenished, Dany sets to making herself coffee, throwing her tangled hair up in a haphazard messy bun as it brews. Her temples still ache, and she groans, resting her forehead against the cool marble of the countertop, willing the coffee machine to go faster.

The coffee is sweet relief as she sips it down, nibbling at her cereal as well, the cats long finished with their meal. Drogon hops up into her lap and purrs contently as she absentmindedly strokes at his head, watching Rhaegal approach and rub up against her feet, his tail brushing her calf. Dany finishes off her breakfast, still nursing her coffee as she takes her phone, scrolling through to see what she’s missed.

She doesn’t check her work email yet— her head still hurts a little too much for that— but she does scroll through instagram, smiling at the photo of all three of them Missandei had posted from last night. Dany absentmindedly returns to the top of the screen, the row of stories at the top beckoning her, with their enticing rainbow rings.

The first one in the row, she sees, is Ghost’s.

Dany had been more than surprised at the notification that Jon had followed her from his dog’s account— she had been half shocked that he had actually found her, and half shocked that he knew how to follow people. She had followed him back without a second thought, though, because it did make sense. She was going to need to see all his content, approve all his posts for Tyrell. Merely business, really, she had thought, before hitting the “follow” button.

But it isn’t business now, as she clicks on Ghost’s icon to view his story. No, right now it’s curiosity.

A picture of two dogs curled up together in the back of a car fills her screen, a little snoozing gif placed above their heads to make it look like they’re snoring. Dany smiles, remembering that Jon said he was going hiking with his sister. She must be the one responsible for this, based on what she’s seen of Jon’s technical skills when it comes to instagram.

The next photo confirms her suspicion, because Jon is in it, sitting before a campfire, Ghost crowded into his lap. She can’t help but smile at the shine of affection in Jon’s eyes, even as his enormous dog lays across him like he’s half the size he truly is. Jon’s arms are snaked around Ghost, hands buried in his fur, the dog’s snowy body slumped against Jon’s chest, the light from the fire making the scene look so welcoming, so warm. She can see the thousands of stars twinkling in the sky overhead, the brilliant streaks of indigo and navy against the black silhouette of the mountain peaks. It almost makes her want to go camping again, though she hasn’t been in years and _years._

Gods, maybe Margaery has a point with this sponsorship.

The final story is a video from this morning, both dogs racing across a rocky beach towards the waves crashing against the shore, morning sunlight sparkling on the seawater. She can hear the muted sound of Jon’s voice in the background, garbled just enough by the ocean wind for her to not make out what he says. But his sister laughs, swiveling to show him in the frame of the camera, his profile suddenly filling her screen.

He looks at ease like she hasn’t ever seen him in real life— both times she’s met with him, he’s seemed hardened, steeled, like he’s forcing himself to deal with something that puts him on edge. And there are moments where Dany thinks she sees something in his eyes— a shadow of something darker, ghosts that won’t quite leave him alone. He looks like he carries the weight of the world on those broad shoulders, his mouth always set in that firm line and his brow always creased.

But he doesn’t look like that here. The sea breeze whips at the curls not bound back in his bun, his hand coming up to shield his eyes from the bright morning sunlight. His expression is relaxed, at peace, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the view ahead of them. _This_ is where he belongs; it’s so clear to her. Out in the world, taking in all the beauty it still has to offer.

“What was that, Jon?” his sister asks, laughing slightly, and Jon shakes his head at her, eyes never leaving whatever lies ahead.

“I said it’s really beautiful here,” he repeats, lips twisting up slightly into a smile, still staring in front of him. “And I think our dogs agree.”

The camera pans back to the dogs, now barking and frolicking through the surf. Dany ignores them, though, taking in instead the landscape around them. The rocky beaches, the perfect blue sky, sunlight shimmering on the water as waves crash and fall against the shore— it’s easy to see why Jon is so captivated. _She’s_ captivated too, and she’s only seeing it through a tiny screen as she sits at her island, sipping coffee.

The video ends, Ghost’s story over, and Dany closes instagram, putting her phone to sleep and resting it on the counter. She finishes off her coffee, trying to put together a list in her head of everything she needs to get done— a shower is at the top, closely followed by actually checking her email— but her focus is skewed by the thoughts of those gorgeous views of the western seashore, the bright blue of the sky behind Jon’s profile, his strong, bearded jaw and his stray curls whipping in the wind.

Maybe she’ll go for a walk, later. Or a hike. Not a very long one, but she was going to go run anyways. Maybe she’ll drive to the Kingswood and hike one of the smaller trails there.

She keeps mulling it over even as she steps into the shower, tugging her hair out of its messy bun to clean it properly. It’s strange, the sudden and complete effect that Jon’s instagram story has over her, but seeing that ease in his expression, that spark of light in his eyes— she wants to feel that for herself, now.

Work emails pull Dany in after her shower, and then she accidentally falls asleep on the couch, though the dull headache from her hangover is gone when she wakes back up. She doesn’t actually make it to the Kingswood, but she keeps checking Ghost’s instagram story, taking in the beauty of the riverlands secondhand. She imagines that she’s running along the winding streams in the mountains she had seen Ghost splash through as she goes for a jog Sunday afternoon through the park by her apartment.

Monday marks a return to the normal, and Ghost’s instagram story is void of updates, Jon and his dog having returned to King’s Landing. Dany brews a second cup of coffee early in the morning in the office kitchenette, smiling hello at her coworkers as they filter in.

“Morning,” Margaery bids her as she enters the room, rummaging through the cupboard for another K cup. Dany can tell the other woman has already been here for hours as well, which is understandable— marketing has its pitch this morning for their new program to solve the dip in sales, and Margaery is sure to be heading it.

“Hello,” Dany says, stepping out of the way to stir milk into her coffee, letting Margaery take over the machine. “You ready for the presentation at nine?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Margaery says with a huff. “We’ve got everything all sorted out, to the last possible detail. Now let’s just hope the board _listens_ to me.”

Dany smiles at that, all too familiar with the challenges of getting the board of stuffy old men to agree to things proposed by a young woman. “I’m sure you’ll sell them on it,” she says, patting Margaery’s shoulder comfortingly. “You can sell anyone anything. It’s one of your many superpowers.”

“Hopefully,” the other woman says, smirking, before she grabs her coffee cup. “I have to get back. I’ll see you at nine,” she says, offering Dany a small parting wave before she turns and hurries off.

The board room is packed as Dany enters it right before nine, slipping gratefully into the chair Jorah had saved for her at the end of the table. Everyone is here— the entire board, Olenna, Loras, the head of every other department in the entire company. And at the head of the table is Margaery, looking completely unshakable, a confident grin on her face as she greets people walking in.

“Good morning everyone,” she says when all the seats are full, everyone of any importance present. “Thank you so much for taking time out of your very busy schedules to be here.” Dany smiles at her friend, eyes flitting up from the laptop in front of her, the message Loras had just sent her about the financial release for the end of the quarter filling her screen.

“So, as we saw at the end of last quarter, our expected sales profits were much higher than what we actually brought in,” Margaery says, launching into her presentation. “For our product lines alone, the drop isn’t significant enough. But the very _basis_ that Tyrell was built upon— helping to save and preserve the beauty of this planet— will suffer if sales continue to drop at this rate.” The board room is silent now, everyone completely enraptured. “In order to continue our work to help save this planet for generations ahead of us, marketing has devised a strategy to reach new audiences and bring our numbers back up to where they need to be.” She clicks to the next slide in her presentation, stepping aside so everyone can take in the image projected on the screen.

“We’re calling this the ‘Get Out There’ campaign, and it is almost exactly what is sounds like,” Margaery says with a warm smile. “While Tyrell will continue to pride itself on providing its customers with high quality recreational equipment, we also want to inspire people to explore the world, discover the beauty of our planet for themselves. For the second half of the year, we will be hosting events and running campaigns that encourage people to get out there and find that beauty.” She changes slides, launching into a much more detailed explanation of all the points of this plan, from events in collaboration with national parks to giveaways, ad campaigns and everything in between. “We have some last-minute product adds that our engineering and design team have worked tirelessly to introduce to the new line as well,” she says, images filling the screen of camping gear that almost makes Dany laugh at how… _glampy_ it looks. “We hope that these new items will make camping easier for first timers, and give them the push they may need to go explore nature.”

Dany listens as Margaery talks, diving into projected numbers and sales from the new campaign, only half paying attention as she messages back and forth with Loras about his email from earlier. “In order to help inspire more regular people to get out there, we have added new sponsors to our lineup for the next two lines as well,” she can hear Margaery say, and her eyes flick up just as the screen changes, Ghost suddenly appearing there, tongue lolling out as he bounds through snow in the mountains.

“We’ve expanded our instagram brand ambassadors to include influencers such as this dog, Ghost,” she says, smiling as a few people chuckle. “And yes, I know it seems foolish to have a _dog_ endorse a recreation equipment brand. But Ghost has over two million followers who watch him and his owner explore places all over this country.” Margaery flicks to the next slide, a picture of Jon and Ghost on top of a mountain peak filling the screen. Her fingers freeze on her keyboard as she looks at the two of them, eyes catching on Jon’s easy smile, the same one she had seen on his face all weekend through his instagram stories.

“We are confident that having _regular_ people, with regular lives endorsing our products will help inspire other regular people to get out there, to use our equipment to have adventures of their own,” Margaery says. “There’s something more aloof about having an athlete or a celebrity show you themselves hiking in the mountains. Changing that view to one of a normal person gives people more confidence in themselves, inspires them to go find those places they’re seeing for themselves.”

Dany blinks as the screen changes again, the picture of Jon and Ghost gone, replaced with a logo for the Get Out There campaign. “We want to celebrate the launch of the new campaign with an all day celebration and fundraiser for the Kingswood National Park next month. Event planning has already put together some brilliant ideas,” Margaery says, flipping slides again to display a whole myriad of activities. Guided hikes, giveaways, raffles, donation matching, and sponsor appearances— Margaery rattles off a whole list of them, delving into detail when needed.

“There is no easy solution to this problem,” she says, folding her hands, eyes flitting from board member to board member. “Unfortunately, we have no way of making sales magically increase to the amount we need them to be at to continue our work with preserving the environment. But we truly believe this is the best solution, to increase sales and to help this planet that we all fiercely want to protect.”

The room breaks out into a smattering of applause at the end of the presentation. Dany only half listens as Margaery answers questions, finishing off the emails from this morning she had been hoping to get to before the meeting had started. She looks up when the board members begin to murmur among themselves, meeting Margaery’s eye across the table.

“Thank you, Margaery,” Olenna says, commanding the attention of the room. “As CEO and owner of Tyrell, I think it is essential to our company and our mission to make sure that whatever we can do to continue our philanthropic programs, we do.” She gives a pointed glance among the board members, a brow arched in a way that makes Dany almost want to laugh. Anyone who tries to resist Olenna Tyrell on this is a damn fool.

“I hope that our board members agree,” Olenna says, and the board begins murmuring again, Dany holding her breath as they come to a decision.

“We do agree, Olenna,” Varys says, the other board members nodding in agreement. Dany smiles, eyes meeting Maragery’s, her friend’s expression triumphant. “We wouldn’t want to sacrifice the company’s ideals. Go forward with it, and get those profits back up to where they need to be.”

Dany catches Margaery out in the hallway afterwards, once she’s done schmoozing with the board members. “Congratulations,” she tells her, Margaery’s smile bright at her words. “The program sounds amazing.”

“Thank you,” Margaery says. “I really think it will work.”

“With you behind it, of course it will,” Dany assures her with a grin.

“That reminds me,” Margaery says, the two of them turning, starting the walk back to their offices. “Could you get Jon in here sometime this week? We want to go over the plan we have laid out for him, and his involvement in the Get Out There campaign.”

“Of course,” Dany says, sighing internally. She had forgotten, in watching Ghost’s stories over the weekend, that she would still have to teach Jon to use his instagram.

She calls Jon on the number he gave her last time they met during her lunch break, typing a quick answer to Loras as she listens to the phone ring and ring. She’s just about to accept defeat and call him back later when he answers the phone, the sound of his voice as he says hello sending an involuntary shiver through her.

“Hi Jon,” she says, turning away from her computer. “It’s Daenerys. How are you?”

“I’m alright,” he says. “And you?”

“Good,” she lies, because she figures saying _fucking exhausted_ would probably be frowned upon. “I was wondering when you could come in this week, to go over marketing’s plan for your sponsorship.”

“When do you want me in?” he asks. “I think your schedule’s probably busier than mine.”

Dany huffs in laughter before she can catch herself, pulling open her schedule, clicking to view Margaery’s as well. “Is Wednesday afternoon alright?” she asks, selecting the time block. “One to three?”

“Aye, that works,” he says. She nods, saving the time block in her calendar.

“Do you have that list of things from the catalogue that you want as well?” she asks, and she squeezes her eyes closed in frustration when Jon is silent, mentally groaning. It should _not_ be this hard to get someone to take things for free, but Jon Snow continues to exceed her expectations when it comes to being annoyingly noble.  

“I can get it to you,” he says, finally. “When do you need it?”

“If you email it to me by the end of the day today, I can place the order and have everything to you by this weekend. What’s your mailing address?”

“Uh, is it okay if I have it sent to my brother’s?” he asks. “I think my mailroom will kill me if I try to get that many oversized packages delivered.”

“That’s fine,” she tells him. “Just send me the address with the list. I’ll see you on Wednesday?”

“Aye, Wednesday,” he confirms. “See you then.”

He sends the list along a little later, and Dany skims over it, copying down numbers to send off. It’s a shorter list than the ones generally supplied to her by sponsors, but she smiles a little when she sees the tent he’d been eyeing is on there.

She sends off the list before opening her calendar again, picking out a conference room for Wednesday, adding Margaery to the meeting invite as well. Her fingers hover over the keys in the _subject_ line of the message, wondering if she should be professional. It’s just Margaery, though. What she _wants_ to type will probably make the other woman laugh as well.

 _Social Media Lessons,_ she types, and sends the invite.

Gods help her now.

***

The Tyrell lobby is busier than it was last week, Jon notices, sitting in the same plush chair, waiting for Daenerys’s assistant to appear. It’s only been a few minutes, but already what has to be a hundred people have rushed through the room, darting between conference rooms and down to the elevators and out the front doors.

“Jon,” he hears, and his head whips up, eyes widening in surprise. It’s not Daenerys’s assistant— it’s Daenerys herself, laptop held under one arm and coffee cup in hand. “I had a meeting down here anyways,” she says, nodding to him to stand and follow her. “I figured I’d save Missandei the trip downstairs.”

He follows her down the hallway, her heels clicking on the marble floors as she walks. “How were the riverlands?” she asks, breaking the silence between them, and Jon turns towards her, startled that she remembers that’s where he was.

“Beautiful,” he tells her, hooking his thumb in his pocket. “The weather was really nice. We had a good couple days there.”

“It looked beautiful,” she says, and his brow furrows in confusion. She must sense his imminent question, because her mouth twists up into the slightest smile. “I saw Ghost’s instagram stories.”

“Oh,” he says, as they get into the elevator. Even though Arya had said she followed him now, he hadn’t thought she would actually pay attention to his account past anything he posted for Tyrell.

“Ghost seemed to be having a good time,” she says, and Jon’s heart picks up at how light her eyes look, that soft shine to them. It makes him want to make her smile constantly, just to see her look like that. The hardened businesswoman fades away for just a second, and he can see the woman underneath that, ever so briefly.

“Aye, he was,” Jon says. “Although he insisted on runnin’ through every single river we came across. His fur was darker than Nymeria’s by the time we got back to the car, he had so much mud on him.”

She laughs at that, even just briefly, and Jon can’t help but grin back at her, the sound captivating. Gods, maybe Arya is right. His heart thumps again, and he can’t take her eyes off her, even as she glances down at her phone again, typing out a response to someone one-handed.

Gods damn his sister for _always_ being right.

“This way,” she says as they step out of the elevator, leading him down a different hallway than the one from last time. They come to another glass conference room, and Jon can see the brunette woman from last time— Margaery, he thinks— already sitting inside.

“Hello, Jon,” she says warmly as he and Daenerys enter the room, Daenerys gesturing to the seat across from Margaery for him to sit. She takes the seat next to the other woman before she pulls her computer open, eyes glued to the screen immediately. Jon’s not sure he’s ever seen her without the damn thing, now that he thinks of it.

“I wanted to go over our new marketing strategy for the fall and winter lines,” Margaery says, and Jon tears his eyes away from Daenerys, fixing them on the other woman. “We hope you’ll be able to play a significant role in it.” Jon just nods, not sure what else to say at that.

Margaery immediately launches into a sales pitch, detailing their “Get Out There” campaign and everything that goes along with it to him. He listens and nods, giving her verbal confirmations when needed. She tells him about what they’ll want him to post on his account, the things he’ll be expected to participate in, as well as the launch event at Kingswood National Park next month, everything they’ve planned for that so far. That sounds _so_ much better than weekly social media posts— spending the day at the national park, hiking with Ghost and all the people that come— that he can do. His doubts about the sponsorship begin to fade a little the more Margaery talks: while he’s still a little leery of the social media postings, having to talk up products to his followers, this is the reason he’s doing it. He wants people to be able to enjoy the world just as much as Ghost does, and he’s glad that, at least, that seems to be Tyrell’s goal too.

His gaze keeps flitting to Daenerys, though, even as he listens to Margaery. She’s half paying attention, eyes darting to Margaery occasionally, but she’s working away on her laptop while she listens. Even when her brow furrows in frustration, eyes lighting up with fire as she types things out, Jon thinks he’s never seen anyone as beautiful as she is. She gives out a huff of frustration at one point, pushing a loose curl of her silver blonde hair behind her ear as she worries her lip, and Jon can’t tear his eyes away, completely transfixed.

“So what do you think?” Margaery says, and he looks back to her, not missing the slight smirk on her face that lets him know he’s been caught. Trying to fight back the flush he can feel heating his cheeks, he nods his head, focusing instead on the information Margaery had just given him.

“I think that sounds good,” he tells her. “I’ve never done a meet up with Ghost for his followers, though people are always askin’ if we will, in the comments.”

“Perfect,” Margaery says, clasping her hands together on top of the table. “I know _I_ want to meet him very much, so I can imagine that many others do as well.” Jon nods, trying to ignore the prickling feel of claustrophobia at the thought of all those people crowding around them, pressing closer and closer. _It’s different, you bloody fool,_ his mind snaps at him. _It’s not like that at all. It’s not like it was in the Watch._ Still, there’s a little uneasiness there that he can’t help, can’t force down, try as he might.

“I think that’s all for me,” Margaery says, looking at Daenerys, who finally glances up from her computer. “Daenerys, the rest is all you, right?” She nods, closing her computer.

“Yes,” she says, standing. “If you don’t mind, Jon, we’ll go back to my office. I could only get the room for the hour.”

“Of course,” he says, standing as well. Margaery bids them farewell in the hallway, rushing off in a different direction, while Jon follows behind Daenerys silently. Her walls from earlier have completely returned— there’s no hint of light in her eyes anymore, just that unshakable professionalism, and he misses the change immediately. He tries not to think of the implications of that, of where that train of thought leads to, steadfastly ignoring the thump of his heart as he watches her walk in front of him, the image of effortless beauty and grace.

They reach her office a moment later, and Jon recognizes her assistant sitting at the desk in front of the frosted glass door, the woman looking up and smiling brightly at the sight of them. “Hello again, Jon,” she greets, and he nods back, half a smile tugging at his lips as Daenerys ushers him into her office.

“Okay,” she says, nodding towards the chair in front of her desk, and Jon takes the seat, unable to help the way his eyes wander across the space. It’s remarkably impersonal, he finds, though there are a few pictures in frames on the wall next to her desk. He recognizes Missandei in a few of them, Margaery even appearing in one or two. There are no men in any of them, he notices, and Arya’s words from the drive come rushing back into his head about her apparent lack of a boyfriend, making his heart stutter again. Daenerys plugs her computer into the dock on her desk, eyes flitting to the two monitors she has set up, and Jon forces all that emotion down, focused only on business now. Hopefully.

“So far as posts,” she says, her chair swiveling so that she can fully face him. “You know how to do those. Marketing has a list of _suggested_ products they would like you to talk about,” she says, and his brows furrow, ready to remind her again that he won’t be forced into pushing shitty products on his followers. “They acknowledge that there is nothing holding you to post about specific products, but if you _do_ like these ones, they’d like you to post about them based on the schedule they came up with, because they think those post dates will be most effective in generating sales.” She gives him a look, and Jon just stares back, standing his ground. No matter how insistent Daenerys is, how much she tries to convince him to bend to her will, he won’t be swayed on this.

“Alright,” he says, nodding. _“If_ I like them, I’ll talk about them.”

“Thank you,” she says, huffing a little in aggravation before turning back to her computer screen. “There are hashtags you’ll be required to use for all of your posts for us as well— get out there, sponsored, all the typical endorsement tags. I can send those to you, to make sure you don’t forget them.” She pauses, looking back to him. “And since you want to write your own reviews of the products, we’ll require approval for every post you make. You can text me screenshots of the photos and the caption, and I’ll give you approval before you post them.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding. That doesn’t sound too bad. He’s not entirely sure how to take a screenshot, but that’s a question for Arya. He doesn’t want her to get even more mad at him.

“In addition to that, we should set up a weekly meeting, for you to come in and review with me what you want to post about or talk about, and so I can help you with anything else that marketing may want to coordinate with you.” She turns to her computer, and Jon can see her calendar coming up, his eyes widening as he takes in the solid blocks of meetings that fill most of her days, brief breaks dotted here and there among the appointments. “Could we do every Thursday, maybe, in the morning? I have 10 to 11 open, if that works for you.”

“Aye, that works,” he tells her. “I work at nights, mostly.”

“Perfect,” she says absentmindedly, before huffing in aggravation. “Conference rooms are all full at that time. We can just meet here; that’ll be easier.” She looks up at him again, eyes quizzical. “How often do you and Ghost go hiking?”

He shrugs. “Depends. I take him for pretty long walks every day; sometimes we’ll do smaller hikes in the Kingswood just for the day. He needs a lot more exercise than normal dogs. But we’ll go away almost every other weekend, depending on my work schedule. Sometimes we go somewhere in the middle of the week too.”

“That works well, then,” she says. “You shouldn’t have any problems getting out to use our products and posting about them about once a week, right?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he tells her.

“Alright,” she says, nodding succinctly. “Everything you requested, and the new line products as well, should be showing up in the next few days. I put the order in on Monday. The sooner you can start using our things and posting about them, the better. Once you have everything, obviously official posts on your account are expected, but marketing would like you to use your stories on hikes to show people the products in action.”

“Okay,” Jon says, looking at her warily. That, he does not know how to do.

Her eyes narrow at him slightly. “You don’t know how to use your story, do you?”

Jon exhales, shaking his head. She seems to be fighting back an eye roll as she gestures for him to come join her on the other side of the desk. Something in his stomach twists at her annoyance— he understands it, of course, but it is a little off putting to have her keep looking at him like he’s a ten year old who doesn’t understand anything. Just because he can’t use fucking social media doesn’t mean he’s an idiot worthy of her scorn.

“You know, I can just have my sister show me how to do all this,” he says, his voice more hostile than he had intended it. Her eyebrows raise a little, that cool mask of professionalism slipping ever so slightly in surprise. “I can send you all the screenshots beforehand, for your approval.” He folds his arms across his chest. “If you have better things you need to be doing.”

Daenerys deflates a little bit at that, her shoulders sagging, and he sees a flash of something across her face— regret, almost. “No, it’s…” she sighs, trying to find the words. “I’m sorry, Jon, for being so short with you,” she says, and he blinks, a little surprised at her admission. “I have a lot going on here, right now,” she continues. “Trying to juggle ten different things at once is taking its toll on me.” She stands, then, taking her chair and rolling it over to his. He looks up, meeting her gaze, and he can see the remorse in her eyes, even if her face is still that calm, cool mask. She bites her lip, and it almost seems like she’s _nervous._ Scared that she’s truly offended him.

He looks back down, scooting his own chair over so that there’s more room next to him for her to put hers. A peace offering, of sorts.

She sits silently, leaning over slightly, crossing her legs and resting her arms against the armrest of her chair closest to him. “I can show you how to post something on your story,” she says, and the hostility is gone from her voice, that hint of annoyance from earlier disappeared like smoke. “Open up instagram?”

He follows her instructions, nodding along as she talks him through it, asking her questions occasionally. There is a fragile peace that takes hold between them as she shows him how to access his stories, how to tag people, change fonts, record videos— everything Arya generally does for him. After a while, he almost has the hang of it, though he still can’t find the place where people respond to his stories.

Whatever, he decides. That can be a problem for another day.

Missandei pokes her head in a few minutes later, smiling quickly at him. “Daenerys, you have a meeting now with Jorah,” she tells her. “If you two are done, I can show Jon downstairs.”

“That would be great. Thank you, Missandei,” Daenerys says, standing quickly, pushing her chair back behind her desk. She turns to him, then, hands clasping in front of her. “I’ll see you next week, Jon.”

He bids her the same, and when he turns again at the door before he leaves, she smiles at him, small and tentative, but there’s a hint of warmth to it that makes his heart thump, full of hope.  

***

“I genuinely don’t think you’re going to be able to fit all this in your apartment.”

Jon groans, looking up from the pile of boxes in front of him, meeting Robb’s eyes. “My flatmates are going to kill me, aren’t they?”

Robb laughs, placing the last of the boxes that had been delivered this morning in front of Jon. “Definitely. I’d let you keep all this here, too, but we have so much shit for the baby all over the house that I’m not sure we’ve got the room either.”

“Maybe I can guilt Sansa into lending me space,” Jon says, pulling open another box. This one has a beautiful new pair of hiking boots in it— one of the things on the list he’d given to Daenerys. He’d tried to keep his list of requested gear to a reasonable amount, with nothing too extravagant, but his hiking boots are getting worn out, and he’s been meaning to get a new pair for a while now. He hadn’t been able to resist. Same with the new tent laying on the floor next to Robb.

“Good luck with that,” Robb laughs, before he turns to his dog, who has his nose stuck in the  open box at Jon’s feet. “Grey Wind, get out of there. It’s not for you.” Ghost pads over to his brother, intent on inspecting the box as well.

“Ghost,” Jon says, and his dog perks up, lifting his head to look at Jon. “Leave it alone,” he says, and Ghost huffs, walking away from the box before hopping up next to him on the couch, flopping down immediately. Jon just chuckles as he grabs another box, setting the hiking boots aside.

“How much stuff did you get from this?” Robb says, sitting next to Ghost, pulling a box almost the size of the dog towards himself.

“Everything from their next upcoming line, whether I wanted it or not,” he says. “And then I gave Daenerys a list of anything else from their catalogue that I thought would be helpful.”

 _“And_ you’re getting paid?” Robb clarifies. Jon just nods, his brother whistling lowly. “Seven hells. Maybe I should start an instagram for Grey Wind.”

“You can just take over this one, if you want,” he jokes, finally getting the next box open. “Then I wouldn’t have to go to bloody weekly meetings and get everything approved before postin’ it.”

“I could,” Robb says, that lopsided grin of his stretching across his face. “But then you wouldn’t get to see this Daenerys woman anymore, and I don’t think you want that.”

Jon shoots his brother a look. “What do you mean?” he asks, though he knows _exactly_ what Robb is implying.

“I was talking with Arya,” Robb says, grinning. “And she told me what you think of her.”

“I think Arya is makin’ assumptions about things she doesn’t fully understand,” Jon grumbles back. He pulls a coat out of the box he’d just opened, thick and heavy, lined with soft fleece on the inside. That, at least, will come in handy for hikes in the North this winter.

“But I hear she is gorgeous,” Robb says, and Jon rolls his eyes, trying to keep himself from flushing.

“Aye, she is,” he agrees, because there’s no denying that. “That doesn’t mean I fancy her.”

“No, it might not,” Robb says. “Still. Tell me about her.”

Jon sighs, anger flaring in his chest at his brother’s prodding. “I don’t know, Robb. What do you want to hear? Yes, she’s beautiful. She also looks at me like I’m a pain in her arse most of the time. Every time I don’t know how to do something, she rolls her eyes at me like I’m a child.” He exhales, looking away from his brother, down to the jacket laying across his lap. Regret immediately flickers through him, because there’s so much more to Daenerys than that, even if she does sometimes treat him like he’s nothing but a bother to her. “But when she’s not lookin’ like she’d like to strangle me, she’s fierce, and determined. It’s like she’s full of fire. She really cares about what she does, and she doesn’t let anything get in the way of it.”

Robb laughs. “So you do fancy her.”

Jon glares at him. “Why does everyone keep sayin’ that?”

“Because it’s clearly true,” Robb answers, giving him a knowing smirk. Jon huffs in aggravation, turning back to the boxes before him.

“Can we focus on openin’ all these bloody boxes, please?” he says. Robb humors him, dropping the subject, grabbing the box cutter again.

“What in the seven hells is this?” Robb asks a minute later, and Jon turns away from the box he’s trying to open, watching as Robb pulls what looks like a space heater out of a box.

“Fucking hell,” Jon says, reaching over to grab the paper from the bottom of the box. “A portable, push-to-start campstove,” he reads off, before rolling his eyes. “This isn’t camping equipment. This is _glamping_ equipment. Just start a campfire like a normal person.”

Robb just laughs, putting it aside, adding it to the pile of things the two of them have deemed useless. Some things in the new line of products are genuinely good ideas, Jon thinks, but there are others that are just extravagant and unnecessary.

“Well, at least you didn’t have to pay for it,” Robb reasons, as Ghost sits up, nosing at Jon’s cheek sleepily. Jon chuckles, petting his dog, scratching right behind his ears.

“What did you get us into, boy?” he asks, and Ghost cocks his head adorably to the side, making Jon and Robb both laugh.

They’re almost finished with the boxes by the time Talisa gets home from her shift, tossing her keys in the bowl before reaching down to pet Grey Wind, who bolted towards the door, barking, the second he heard the knob. “Hello, boys,” Talisa says in greeting, but Jon’s not sure if she’s talking to them or the dogs, Ghost hopping off the couch to go say hello as well.

“Hi, love,” Robb calls from the couch, his wife arching an eyebrow at him in amusement as she picks her way across the living room, stepping artfully around the endless boxes and unpacked equipment.

“What’s going on in here?” she asks, leaning down to give Robb a kiss hello.

“All of Jon’s things for the sponsorship came in,” he explains, and Talisa nods in understanding.

“Hi, Jon,” she says, turning to him, and he stands to give his sister-in-law a hug. He’s always liked Talisa immensely— she’s one of the few people on the planet that doesn’t stand for his brother’s shit. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“If you don’t mind,” he says, hand going to the back of his neck instinctually. “If it’s too much, it’s fine. I’ve already taken up half your house with my packages.”

Talisa laughs him off, sitting down between them in Ghost’s vacated spot on the couch. “Don’t be silly,” she says. “We’d love to have you.”

“How was work?” Robb asks, and she sighs.

“Good,” she says. “Long, though. Your son wouldn’t stop jumping on my bladder all day, which made my rounds rather difficult, as I had to run to the bathroom every five minutes.” Robb laughs at that, his hand reaching out to rest against the swell of her belly, his expression softening.

“Give your mother a break there, won’t you, love?” he murmurs, and Talisa smiles, covering his hand with hers. Jon’s heart clenches, watching the moment between them, those sharp, shattered edges of the pieces of himself he’s been fighting to reassemble the past three years making his chest feel tight.

Talisa leans over to kiss Robb quickly again, before standing. “I’m going to change out of my scrubs. I’ll be down in a minute.” Robb watches her with that lovestruck shine in his eyes as she leaves the room, climbing the stairs to the second level of the house.

“Sansa asked me the other day if it feels real yet,” Robb says, eyes still fixed on the stairs as he speaks. Jon just watches his brother as Ghost returns to him, laying his head in Jon’s lap, eyes wide as he asks for pets. Jon obliges willingly, sinking his fingers into Ghost’s thick fur, letting the warmth from his dog ground him a little more. “If it’s truly hit me that in a few months, the baby will be here.”

“Has it?” Jon asks, watching his brother’s wide eyed expression.

“Sometimes I think it has,” he says. “Then others, it still feels like some hypothetical. But when I can feel him kicking like that—” he trails off, shakes his head. “It’s half exhilarating, half terrifying. I realize that I still have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I can’t wait for him to be here.”

Something in his brother’s voice makes Jon’s chest tighten, the sound of Robb’s excitement ringing in his ears. Jon is happy for Robb— _obviously—_ but there’s an uncomfortable gnawing feeling in his stomach, listening to his brother speak, seeing this life he’s built, with a house and a wife and a stable job, and now a baby on the way. That hole inside him gets a little bigger, cold, sharp pain clawing at him, making him feel claustrophobic.

Robb has everything figured out, and yet Jon is still falling to pieces.

“Jon,” Robb’s voice sounds, and his head turns instinctually, following the noise. He meets his brother’s striking blue eyes, peering at him in concern.

“Hey,” Robb says, brow furrowed. “You okay?”

Jon doesn’t know what to say, how to answer. Gods, it’s been three years and he’s _still_ not over this, still breaking down over _nothing,_ paralyzed by past memories and future fears alike.

“Breathe, Jon,” Robb instructs, his voice quiet and commanding, leaving no room for argument. He can feel the weight of his brother’s hand on his shoulder, and he closes his eyes, inhaling, exhaling, and again, but it still feels like there’s a knife buried in his chest.

_The cold flash of a blade, sinking through flesh, piercing his heart as his blood spills out onto the frozen ground._

“Stop it,” Robb says. “You’re not there, Jon. You’re right here, with me. You’re alright.”

He feels something nudge against him, cold and wet, and he opens his eyes, just making out a blur of white as Ghost leaps onto the sofa, wedging himself between Jon and Robb, resting half his body in Jon’s lap. He focuses on the rise of Ghost’s chest, hand held against his dog’s neck, until he can breathe again, his chest expanding, no longer trapped in an icy steel vice.

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed. It’s been years now; he’s supposed to be past this. “I— fucking hell, I’m—”

“Shut up,” Robb says, moving closer to him on the couch, his hand smoothing over Jon’s shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for, Jon.” He pauses a minute, but Jon can’t look over, can’t meet his eyes.

 _“I’m_ sorry,” Robb insists. “I didn’t mean to… did I say something?”

“No,” Jon says, shaking his head. He didn’t, really. “I…”

He doesn’t want to tell Robb what it is, what made his chest constrict like that, brought him right back to that awful night at the Wall. But he remembers Arya’s words from right after he’d gotten out of the hospital, back when he’d been a mere shell of the person he used to be, lost in endless darkness.

 _We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s wrong, Jon,_ she’d said, and her eyes had been so scared as they’d met his. _We want you to get better. We’re here to help you get better. But if you won’t tell us you’re drowning, we can’t pull you back up to the surface._

“Sometimes, I just…” he squeezes his eyes closed, trying to make sense of the words. Gods, he _hates_ this, forcing the words out like he’s pulling teeth. “You’re married, with a baby on the way. Arya’s just graduated. Sansa’s becoming a fucking _lawyer._ And I’m…” he huffs humorlessly. “What am I doing? I’m twenty seven years old, still bartending to pay for a room in an apartment I can barely afford, with no plan at _all_ for the future, still falling apart over _nothing_ —”

“Enough,” Robb says, voice stern. “Fucking hell, Jon. You know what you’re doing? You’re getting _better._ You are,” he insists, as Jon finally looks over at him, meeting his eyes. He remembers what Arya said last weekend, in Riverrun— how glad she is that he’s better now. Most of the time, Jon thinks the same, but in moments like this, he feels like he’s right back at the beginning.

“You went through something _awful,_ that most people could never recover from,” Robb says. “Cut yourself some slack, alright? No one expects you to have everything figured out. Gods know I wouldn’t. But you’re getting there. And we’re still here for you, always. I don’t care how much time has passed, how much better you’re _supposed_ to be.”

“Thank you,” Jon manages to get out, exhaling shakily. That lingering feeling hasn’t completely left him, but the overwhelming sense of gratitude for his brother puts him a little at ease, lets him breathe again, even slightly. Robb seems to know what he’s feeling, because he leans over, shoving Ghost out of the way so he can hug him. Jon squeezes his eyes closed, resting his forehead on Robb’s shoulder, taking his brother’s support and trying to stitch himself back up a little with it.

Robb lets him go just as Talisa appears at the top of the stairs again, changed out of her scrubs. “I don’t even think I _want_ to know what half these things are,” she says, raising an eyebrow at the push-to-start campstove they were looking at earlier. Robb laughs, and Jon smiles a little, the warmth of the people around him thawing that frozen hole in his chest just a bit.

***

The next few weeks pass uneventfully, days blurring together one after the other in an endless stretch of meetings and work. Dany doesn’t think she’s slept a full night in at least a month, but Margaery says that their reach is increasing with the new sponsors, that sales are reflecting their predicted numbers right now, and that alone is enough to inspire her to power through.

She’s so busy with handling all the other facets of her job that half the time, she even forgets about Jon Snow.

He’s posted twice since their initial meeting, coming in every Thursday morning with a new set of pictures for her to review and choose from. She’s helped him set up the captions, saving them to his drafts for later— though she had to show him how to access that, as well.

Even though he’s been stubborn as hell about his posts and has given her _multiple_ headaches in the few meetings they’ve had, there’s a sort of fragile peace between them now, though Dany suspects that’s because he’s actually liked the first few products marketing has wanted him to speak on. She’s dreading getting to something he _doesn’t_ like, having to somehow convince him to speak well of products he doesn’t want to mention. Regardless, she’s tried to stop looking at him like he’s nothing but a pain in her arse— even if he _is_ giving her endless headaches, she has to work with him, like it or not, and he doesn’t deserve her scorn, no matter how irritatingly stubborn and righteous he is. If she treats him like a child, this entire situation will just be even less pleasant for both of them.

Today, though, she has no room to worry about Jon Snow, because she has a _much_ bigger problem to deal with.

“This is a fucking _nightmare,”_ Margaery says, dropping her computer on the end of Dany’s desk. She has the whole surface cleared off, save her desktop, Missandei having pulled chairs in from one of the conference rooms so the three women can sit around the table. It’s going to be a _long_ day of working together to fix this mess, and all the conference rooms were booked already.

“Tell me about it,” Dany says, eyes darting to her phone again as it lights up with another notification. She’s had a constant stream of emails since the news broke this morning, and it doesn’t look like it will be stopping anytime soon.

“The story’s trending on social media now,” Missandei says, looking up from her laptop. “It’s all I see on twitter.”

“I knew we never should have signed that little shit,” Margaery spits, raking her hands through her long hair.

“Who insisted on him being a sponsor?” Dany asks, and Margaery rolls her eyes.

“Fucking _Tywin Lannister._ I swear to the gods, if I could choose only one board member to off, it would be him, without a doubt.”

“I agree with that,” Dany seconds. The old man is creepy and vindictive, and Dany has the sense that he will do whatever necessary to get his way— but not in a determined way; more of a murder-y, remorseless way.

“Well, now his grandson is going to go to jail for _life_ for murdering a poor girl in the woods,” Missandei says. Dany winces, picturing the headlines from this morning: _Olympic Shooting Medalist Joffrey Baratheon Murders Woman in Kingswood National Park on Illegal Hunting Trip._ Her stomach had dropped, as had the cup of coffee in her hand, and she had apologized profusely to the café worker who cleaned up the mess while she ran off to work.

“And we’re going to get a _ton_ of shit from the media, because we just signed him, and he was using our godsdamned products,” Dany adds. He hadn’t killed the girl with anything of theirs, at least— they stopped making hunting equipment ages and ages ago— but all the camping supplies had been things gifted to him as a brand ambassador. The phone on her desk rings, and she groans, knowing this is going to be the first of _many_ calls she has to fight through today.

The three of them spend the entire morning fielding phone calls, answering emails, trying to clean up the complete _mess_ of a situation. By noon, it becomes clear that this is going to keep them here long into the night, trying to do damage control before everything spirals _completely_ out of control. They can’t take the hit right now too, with the precarious spot they’re already in with sales.

“It’s going to be a long day,” Dany says with a sigh, eyes glazing over as she watches the emails flood her inbox. Her head is already pounding, exhaustion hitting her despite the numerous cups of coffee she’s consumed since this morning. Her eyes dart up to meet Margaery’s, Missandei’s. “Let’s get a nice lunch. How about we order from that café down the street?”

“Oh, good idea,” Margaery says. “Get me that caprese sandwich. The one with the sun-dried tomatoes and balsamic. I’ll venmo you for it.”

“Is it wrong to get sangria with lunch?” Dany jokes, scrolling through the menu on their website, selecting her and Missandei’s usual orders. “Or a full bottle of whiskey?”

“I support that decision fully,” Missandei returns, the three woman laughing as Dany finishes placing her order.

“Should be ready in ten to fifteen minutes,” she tells them. “That’s about how far of a walk it is over there, right?”

“Mmm,” Missandei says.  “Do you want me to go pick it up?”

“No, I’ll get it,” she tells Missandei and Margaery. This office is starting to feel stifling, and she needs a break. Fresh air. _Something._ “I need to get out of here for a minute.”

The late summer sunshine of King’s Landing feels delicious on her skin, Dany basking in it as she walks to the café to fetch their food. Their order is ready when she gets there, smiling gratefully as she pays and takes the bag with their meals. She lets her mind wander as she begins the walk back, the breeze tickling the gauzy sleeves of her blouse, bringing the sounds of birds and children playing across the busy street.

She looks across the road— the King’s Landing Public Gardens are right there, beckoning to her with their blooming flowers and dappled sunlit paths. She hesitates at the crosswalk— it’s more direct to walk down the street to get back to the office, but it’s so nice out, the sound of water from the fountain enticing, the wrought iron fence swung open in welcome.

She makes her decision, crossing the street. Walking back through the park will add maybe five minutes to her trip.

The second she steps into the gardens, Dany is happy with her choice, smiling softly at the sweet scent of blooms in the air, the laughter of children feeding ducks in the pond in the middle of the park. She walks down the stone path that winds around the water, enjoying the warmth of the day, the beautiful sunlight streaming through. She’s not the only one with this idea, clearly— she sees many other people in business attire strolling around, as well as families, small children, people with dogs. She smiles as her eyes follow a little toddler in front of her, racing forward along the path towards something, his mother hurrying after him, calling his name.

“Puppy!” the boy squeals, and Dany looks to where he’s running, stopping dead in shock.

The _puppy_ the little boy had been racing towards is hardly a puppy, large and fluffy and white, taller than the child himself. She recognizes that dog instantly, her eyes sliding from him to his owner at the same moment that Jon Snow seems to realize she is before him as well.

“Daenerys,” Jon says, blinking at her as the mother scoops up her little boy, hurrying along.

“Hi, Jon,” she returns, taking a step forward. It’s strange, seeing him outside of her office— he’s wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt, the faint outlines of his muscles visible through the dark fabric. “Out for a walk?” she asks, as Ghost tugs on his leash, padding over to her and nudging her with his nose.

“Aye,” Jon answers, moving closer as well, following his dog. “This guy needs his exercise, still. Can’t take him hiking every day.”  

“I’m sure he wishes you could,” she says, looking down at Ghost, the adorable tilt of his head as he paws at her leg, clearly asking to be petted. She can’t help but smile, setting down the bag of food to her side and kneeling on the stone path, Ghost wiggling with excitement as she finally reaches his level and puts out a hand to scratch his head. He whines in excitement, nosing at her cheek, and the weight of his body pushes her back, almost making her fall right on her arse.

“Hey,” Jon says sternly, tugging on Ghost’s leash. “Be careful, would you? No shoving people over.” He glares at Ghost, who does indeed back off a little, but Dany can see the affection still in his eyes as he looks at his dog. “Sorry,” he says, turning to her. “He doesn’t know how big he is, I swear.”

“It’s alright,” Dany tells him, smiling at the way Ghost’s eyes slide shut in pleasure as she scratches behind his ears. Generally she’s more of a cat person, but there’s something about Ghost that is completely charming, winning her over instantly. “You’re just a big sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Jon chuckles at her words, and she looks up, startled at the warm, throaty sound. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him so relaxed, so at ease. Here among the flowers and greenery, with the summer breeze fluttering around them, he almost looks like he does on his instagram stories— completely content, almost _happy._

“He’s demanding, is what he is,” Jon jokes, and she looks up at him, seeing the warmth in his eyes as he gazes at his dog, that teasing glint that lets her know he doesn’t mind one bit how attention seeking Ghost may be. Ghost whimpers as if to prove his point, nosing at Dany’s cheek again until she giggles, her hands coming up to pet at the soft fur on his neck. “Gods above, Ghost, stop smotherin’ her.”

“No, it’s okay, really,” Dany says, though she does push Ghost back a little so she can stand, the stone under her knees beginning to get a little uncomfortable. Jon offers her a hand, and she takes it without thinking, allowing him to pull her up. She vehemently ignores the way her heart quickens at the feel of his calloused palm against her own, the way his fingers wrap around hers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She drops his hand as soon as she’s back on her feet, meeting his eyes briefly, something alight in those warm brown irises.

“He’s a good distraction,” she says, finally regaining her train of thought. Her hands return to Ghost’s soft fur, the dog rubbing up against her legs contently. “Gods know I need one of those today.”

“I was about to ask what you were doin’ outside the office in the middle of the day,” Jon says. His expression is calm, neutral, but she can still see that warm shine to his eyes, completely enticing.

“Getting lunch for me, Missandei, and Margaery,” she says, nodding towards the bag of food next to her. “We’ve had a hellishly long day already, and I’m sure with all the _bullshit_ I’ll have to deal with for the rest of the day, none of us will be going home until late.”

“Something happen?” Jon says, brow furrowing. She looks at him, her eyebrows raising.

“Have you heard the news?”

“Depends on what news,” he answers, fingers still playing with the end of Ghost’s leash. She sighs, trying to let the warmth of the dog underneath her palms keep her from getting angry again.

“About Joffrey Baratheon,” she says, and Jon nods in recognition.

“Oh, I did. That was awful.”

“Awful in general, and awful for us,” she says with a grimace. “We had just signed him as an ambassador, and he was on that trip with all the free supplies we had given him.”

“Shit,” Jon says, frowning.

“Indeed,” Dany responds with a sigh. “I’ve been fielding press calls and news outlets all day. It’s a fucking nightmare.” She shakes her head. “Plus, that poor girl. Shot with a _crossbow,_ left to bleed out in the woods all alone. It’s awful enough without our company’s stake in it.”

“It is,” Jon agrees, nodding, before looking down at Ghost. She catches a flash of something across his face, something dark and painful. His dog looks up, seeming to sense his owner’s mood shift, before walking back over to him, shoving his nose into Jon’s palm. Jon smiles smally at Ghost, scratching behind his ears affectionately, and the darkness that had flitted across his face is gone.

“I wish all our brand ambassadors could just behave themselves,” Dany says, and Jon smiles just a bit, the corner of his mouth ticking up slightly. She’s not entirely sure why she keeps talking— just to fill the silence between them, she guesses. She could just say goodbye, walk away, but something in her screams for her to stay, stay here in this moment with Jon, warm sunlight streaming all around them. Plus, she _really_ doesn’t want to go back to the office.

“Seems reasonable enough,” Jon says, his thumbs hooking into his pockets.

“You would think,” Dany says. “Don’t they know they’re making my life _significantly_ more difficult when they go around causing all these scandals?”

Jon smiles at that, shrugging slightly. “I guess not. I’ll do my best to not cause any problems for you.”

She smiles wryly, plucking at one of Ghost’s snowy white hairs clinging to the chiffon of her blouse. “Yes, if you could refrain from murdering people in the woods, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Jon says, crossing his arms, in mock contemplation. “That’s an awful lot you’re askin’ of me.”

She laughs without even thinking— she’s not sure she’s ever heard Jon Snow make a joke before; generally he’s stoic and stubborn, almost broody. She likes seeing him like this, she thinks, watching the hint of a smile pull at his mouth, his eyes getting lighter as he takes in her amusement.

Her laughter fades, but she still feels light, her headache from earlier having disappeared, the weight of today’s awful events no longer pulling her down. Maybe it’s the fresh air, maybe it’s Ghost, or maybe it’s just Jon. Either way, she doesn’t want the moment to end, praying desperately this shiny bubble of peace can last as long as she wants it to.

But her phone buzzes in her purse, and she sighs, remembering the mountains of work waiting for her. Jon seems to be able to read her expression, because he squints at her sympathetically, his fingers raking through Ghost’s fur.

“Duty calls?” he asks, and she nods, picking up her bag of food.

“Unfortunately so,” she says, eyes locking on his again. They’re truly mesmerizing, she thinks, caught for a moment in the warm brown. “It was good to run into you, Jon,”

“Aye, you as well,” he says, nodding to her.

“Take it easy on this one,” she says, stepping closer to pat Ghost’s head in farewell. The dog’s eyes slide closed contently as Jon chuckles, the warm sound rumbling in his chest.

“You should probably be tellin’ him to take it easy on me,” Jon says. “If he had his way we’d be runnin’ through the mountains every day. He’s got more energy than I’ll ever have.”

“I could use some of that today,” she says, laughing. He smiles at her again, slight, yet no less sweet.

“Don’t work too hard, Daenerys,” he says, tugging on Ghost’s leash as he turns, ready to continue on down the path. She smiles back, nodding slightly.

“I’ll try not to.”

She mulls over it on the way back to the office, her conversation with Jon. How nice it was to speak with him about anything other than his endorsement. The rush of surprise she feels at how much she genuinely enjoys his company, when he’s not being so godsdamned stubborn.

She apologizes to Missandei and Margaery for being late when she drops their food on her desk, still covered in laptops and paperwork. She tells them the food took longer than expected to prepare, both the women nodding at her, still clearly engrossed in their work.

Dany’s not sure why she lies to them, really. It’s stupid. It’s inconsequential. They probably won’t care, buried in all the work they are.

But still. There is something about her encounter with Jon Snow today that she would like to keep to herself, tucked away in a corner of her mind where no one else can touch it. At least for now.

***

The Joffrey mess calms down after a few days— not entirely, obviously, but enough for Dany to not have to deal with it constantly, her days returning mostly to normal. Thursday is like a breath of fresh air, as she doesn’t have a single email about Joffrey Baratheon in her inbox, and her morning is almost relaxing.

That is, until Jon Snow comes in, with words to say about marketing’s targeted item of the week.

The easy nature of their conversation in the park is gone, the gentle smile that had pulled at his lips replaced with that usual hard frown. He’s being _stubborn_ again, and she sort of wants to strangle him.

Another part of her just wants to drag him back to that park, see the light that fills his eyes out among the emerald trees.

He had told her last week that he’ll be in the Stormlands with his brother, sister, and her boyfriend for the long weekend, and to let him know if there were any specific items marketing wanted him to bring and test out. She had passed the message to Margaery, who had returned a list to her, which she had texted to Jon.

She should have known he would be against the last item on the list— that new push-to-start campstove. The rest of the items on the list are rather universal, mainly new designs of old items, but that one… that one has him in a fit, which has given her a headache.  

“I am not postin’ about this on Ghost’s account,” he says, arms crossed across his chest as he sits in the chair opposite her desk. She exhales, willing herself not to yell at him.

“It’s overpriced, and unnecessary, and I’m _not_ encouraging his followers to spend their money on it,” he continues, his brow scrunched together. “I’m sorry if that messes with marketing’s plans, but I get final say on what I post about.”

The most aggravating thing about it is that she _kind of_ sees his point. The campstove they’re pushing on him is one of their late adds to the line, and Dany does, personally, think it’s overpriced and silly. She understands why Jon would have no use for it. But still— that doesn’t mean _everyone_ will think it’s stupid, and it’s her job to convince him, even when he’s being this godsdamned stubborn.

“Jon, _please,”_ she says, turning fully away from her laptop to look at him. “Marketing really wants you to talk about it.”

“I’m not doing it, Daenerys,” he retorts, scowling. “It’s fuckin’ stupid. Why would anyone lug around a rechargeable, push-to-start campstove when you could just build a fire?”

“Because some people _don’t know_ how to build fires, Jon,” she snaps. He blinks at her, his mouth snapping shut. She sighs again, leaning forward to press her fingertips to her temple. She can’t let her temper get the best of her— that will end poorly, she knows from experience, and neither of them will get what they want.

“Not everyone knows how to start a campfire as easily as you do,” she says, making sure her voice is more level. “There are a lot of people out there, probably, who want to go camping, want to go see the world like you do, but are intimidated by everything they need to know. Camping and hiking aren’t easy,” she tells him. “You may make it _look_ easy to your followers, but it’s not. So maybe someone who wants to get out there but doesn’t know everything they need to know yet will buy a push-to-start campfire, because it gets fucking _cold_ in the mountains at nighttime or because they want to make s’mores. And maybe because they have that, they won’t be scared anymore, and they’ll actually go out and see the world a little.” She exhales sharply, eyes fixed on Jon again, who just stares back at her. His expression is unreadable, his mouth still set in that firm line, but there’s a shine in his eyes, something softer there, gentler.

“I didn’t think of that,” he says, and while she wants to shoot something snippy back at him, he sounds so sincere. So she restrains herself, glancing at her computer screen again.

She glances over at Jon a moment later, after silence has stretched between them, to see him typing away on his phone. “Writing about something else?” she asks, and he looks up, meeting her eyes.

“No,” he says. “Texting my sister. Sansa.” Dany groans internally— that’s the lawyer one, she’s pretty sure. If he somehow gets legal involved in this, fights them _this much_ over what he posts on his account, she’s going to tear her hair out before the next quarter is done.

“I’m seeing if she’ll come with us this weekend, to the Stormlands,” he says, and Dany blinks, surprised. He shrugs, almost apologetic. “Arya and Robb come hiking with me a lot,” he explains. “But Sansa almost never does. Maybe I can get a new perspective on some of these products, from someone who doesn’t really know what they’re doing.”

Dany’s mouth falls open slightly, completely taken aback. She’s not sure what to say— so she says nothing, just staring at Jon. But the little smile he gives her, the warmth of it reaching his eyes— it lets her know that she doesn’t have to say anything at all. He understands.

On Sunday, he texts her a photo and a screenshot: the picture is of a woman with long red hair, laughing next to the portable campstove as Ghost and another dog hungrily watch her roast a marshmallow over the flame. She can see the mountains of the Stormlands in the background, the sun setting in a brilliant array of colors behind the peaks. Dany’s eyes skim over the caption in the screenshot, taking in the words he’d written.

_Tyrell’s new portable campstove definitely made Sansa’s first time cooking in the wilderness a lot easier for her. Unfortunately for Ghost and Lady, she wasn’t willing to share._

She smiles at it, scrolling back to the picture again, taking in the joyful grin on his sister’s face, the adorable tilt of Ghost’s head as he watches her make her food. Jon had even remembered the right hashtags and everything.

Dany closes out of the images, texting Jon back her approval to post. She hesitates, thumbs poised over the keyboard, not sure if she should send him what she really wants to say.

Squeezing her eyes shut quickly, she stops doubting herself, sending him a second text, just two simple words.

_Thank you._

***

“Alright, that sounds fine,” Dany says, only half paying attention to the conference call she’s currently on, her attention instead focused on Missandei, who is opening her office door with both of their lunches in hand. “Thank you, Renly.”

She misses his response, muting the call on her desk phone instead and smiling widely at Missandei as she hands over Dany’s salad. The other woman takes the seat across from her desk, clearing a space to put down her laptop and lunch.

“I don’t think this call is ever going to end,” Dany grumbles, taking the lid off her lunch. “They’ve been back and forth for _hours,_ it seems like.”

“What is it about?” Missandei asks, opening up the container of her own lunch.

“I’m only half sure. It’s with Essos, but half of it is for engineering, all the samples coming in for the spring line. I’m barely needed. I’ve been working on other things the whole time,” Dany says, gesturing towards the work pulled up on her computer as Missandei laughs.

“Thank the gods it’s Friday,” Dany says, the sound of the engineering and marketing team talking still coming through the phone. “I need the weekend to catch up on everything, without all these damn _meetings_ taking up my time.” Missandei shakes her head, aiming a disapproving glare at Dany.

“Do you _ever_ stop working?” she asks, taking a bite of her sandwich. Dany frowns.

“You know I don’t,” she says. “If I only worked while I was actually here, I’d be behind forever.”

“You need more people in your department,” Missandei says. “You take on too much for yourself. You need to have time to yourself every once in a while, you know?”

Dany shrugs. What’s she going to do with time to herself, anyways? “It’s alright,” she says. “I don’t mind it. It keeps me busy.”

Missandei just shakes her head, letting it go. “Still. You’re still coming out with us tonight, right? For Grey’s nameday?”

Dany tries not to groan as she takes another bite of her salad, because she had _totally_ forgotten about that. “Of course,” she answers. “What time, again?”

“I think we’re going out for nine,” she says. “There’s this bar downtown that we’re going to first, and then there’s a club next door that has great music for dancing. Do you want to come over before, get ready? Then we can all share an uber.”

“That sounds great, actually,” Dany says. Nine isn’t too bad. She should be able to go home, get in a quick run, and still finish up most of her work before going out. “I’ll come over around eight?”

“Perfect,” Missandei says, finishing off her sandwich. “It’ll be good for you. You need a night off from working.”

Dany rolls her eyes at that, because she knows by now, _needing_ and _getting_ are two very different things.

The bar that they’re all meeting at is somewhere Dany’s never been, down on the other side of King’s Landing, by the water. She can smell Blackwater Bay as they cross the patio, the deck behind the bar illuminated with strings of lights, their reflection on the water sparkling.

“I’ve never been here,” Missandei says, letting go of Grey’s hand to lean over to Dany. “But Grey says it’s not too expensive, and they have really good seafood, too.”

“It’s certainly pretty down here,” Dany says, tugging the skirt of her minidress back into place as Grey ushers them inside. She can see the crowd of people already waiting for them— a lot of Grey’s friends from work that she only somewhat knows, but Irri’s here too, bouncing over to Dany and Missandei as soon as she catches sight of them.

The inside of the bar is pretty crowded, so Irri goes to get the three of them drinks while the rest of them go to claim a table on the deck. Food is being brought out soon, and Dany lets herself relax, purge work from her mind with the help of alcohol and laughter and fried seafood.

An hour or two later she’s done with her third drink, the food long gone, Irri and Missandei caught up in an animated conversation that she missed the beginning of. Looking down at her empty glass, she taps Missandei on the shoulder, letting her friend know she’s going to get another drink, before slipping back inside the bar.

It’s less crowded now, most of the patrons from earlier probably headed down the street to the other clubs to go dancing, so she manages to snag a seat at the bar, hooking her heels on the bar at the bottom of her stool. She waits idly for one of the bartenders to become available, unlocking her phone, unable to resist checking her work email.

She sees all the new messages flood in, but she doesn’t even get a chance to open any of them before she hears a voice saying “Daenerys?”

Her head snaps up, because she knows that voice.

 _“Jon?”_ she asks incredulously, but there is no question about it— Jon Snow is standing in front of her, on the other side of the bar, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “What are you doing here?” she asks, eyes skating over him, the way his hair is pulled back, the outline of his muscles she can see underneath his black t shirt.

“I work here,” he says, stepping closer, and Dany does vaguely remember him saying something about mostly working nights. “What are _you_ doing here?”

She laughs, then, at the absurdity of the situation, the chances of running into him outside work _twice_ in this huge city, in the span of less than two weeks. “I’m not stalking you, I promise,” she says, and his lips quirk adorably to the side, smirking at her a tad. She can feel the alcohol flowing in her system, making her much looser than she generally behaves when they’re in her office. “It’s Missandei’s boyfriend’s nameday. We came here before we go dancing next door.” She looks at him again, raising her eyebrows. “And I’m here _specifically,_ at the bar, because I need another drink.”

His eyes light up in amusement, hands bracing on the edge of the bar, leaning in a little. “What can I get for you then?”

She rattles off her drink order to him and he nods, turning away from her towards the shelves of liquor behind her, before returning a moment later, offering her the drink. “Thanks,” she returns, taking a sip of her drink— perfectly made, she notes— and Jon just offers her a slight smile again, before turning to another customer down the bar.

She sips idly on her drink as she checks her email, scrolling through the latest message in the chain from Renly and his counterpart in the Essos office. She rolls her eyes, typing out a response to the _ridiculously_ stupid issue they’re having, sending it off as she sets her glass back down on the bar top, almost empty.

“Do you ever stop workin’?” she hears, and she looks up, seeing Jon standing before her again.

“Not really,” she says, her tone almost defensive. “If I let it all pile up over the weekend, I’ll never get caught up again on Monday. I’m being proactive,” she says, although Jon’s brow furrows a little bit at her words. The bar is emptying out, she notices, only a couple people left sitting at the counter. She picks up her drink again to fill the silence, finishing it off. Jon doesn’t say anything, just takes the glass from her, tucking it away below the bartop with the other dirty glasses.

“I’ve never been here before,” Dany says, surveying the bar again. She’s not sure why she feels an urge to keep talking— maybe it’s the alcohol, she thinks, already loosening her tongue. Or maybe it’s the memory of that spark of light in Jon’s eye, that day in the park. Maybe she just wants to see that again.

“It’s a nice place,” she says, the silence begging to be filled. Jon shrugs, looking around as well.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I like the people I work with. I make pretty good tips. And Davos doesn’t mind that I take a lot of weekends off to go hiking.” He meets her eye again, smiling a little, but there’s a glint to his eyes that makes her sad. “Still. A far cry from workin’ at a place like Tyrell.”

Dany scoffs, hating the self-deprecation in his voice. As if there’s any shame in his job. She built herself up to where she is now, lived hand-to-mouth most of her life, sacrificed everything to get to where she is in the world. She knows what that’s like, and she doesn’t discriminate based on people’s lifestyles. She doesn’t think herself better than Jon, or anyone, just because she makes more money.

“I’m fairly sure your stress levels are _significantly_ lower than mine, so I would say you probably made out better, of the two of us,” Dany says with a smile, pleased when that flash of shame in his eyes disappears. His eyes are so pretty, she thinks. Like dark chocolate, or coffee, warm and brown and enticing. She could get lost in them for days. “And besides, not everyone wants to sell their soul to a job like mine.”

Jon smiles ever so slightly at that, the corner of his mouth turning up in a way that she’s not even sure she would have noticed, if she wasn’t looking right at him. He turns away from the counter for a moment, before returning with two drinks, setting one before her, taking the other. Dany picks hers up without hesitating, clinking it with his.

“Well, here’s to a night off from your soul-sucking job,” he offers, and she can’t help but laugh.

“Hear, hear.”

***

It surprises her how easy it is to talk to Jon Snow, when they’re not arguing about his social media posts.

He’s sullen and silent and almost _broody_ most of the time in her office, really only speaking when he needs her approval, or has a question, or feels the need to rebut whatever she just said. Even when they do talk, he’s not one to prattle on and on. He doesn’t seem to enjoy speaking, the way some people she knows _(Margaery,_ she thinks immediately) like to. But that silent broodiness is gone now, and there’s something about the light in his eyes that makes her want to keep this conversation between them going.

He lets her speak, mostly— even still, he’s not superfluous with his words— but he’s a good listener, and she finds she keeps getting caught in his eyes, her breath stolen by laughter every time he makes a joke, or pokes fun at her. There’s a lightness to his eyes as he leans against the bar, engaged in conversation with her, that reminds her of that day in the park, or how he looks when she sees him in Ghost’s instagram story. That glimpse of the man behind the sullen exterior has her captivated, and conversation between them just keeps going, with very little effort.

Gods know, though, it might just be the alcohol. Regardless, she’s beginning to think that she’s a little drunk on Jon Snow as well.

“Alright,” she says, placing her empty glass back down on the bar, shaking her head. “I have to ask you. I’ve been wondering about it for far too long.” Jon just looks back at her, his brows furrowing at her tone of voice, and if she wasn’t already slightly tipsy, she would think there was a little gleam of fear in his eyes.

“How many _wolf dogs_ does your family have?” she demands.

Jon’s face immediately breaks out into the widest smile she’s ever seen on it, stunning her momentarily. His eyes come to life when he smiles like that, the warm, dark brown suddenly looking like it’s infused with sunlight, shining at her as he laughs.

“Six,” he tells her. “Every one of my siblings has one, as well.”

Dany’s jaw drops. _“Six?”_ she says. “How did you happen upon _six_ wolf dogs?”

Jon smiles a little, swiping her glass, leaning down to place it in the bin below the bartop. That’s another thing she’s noticed. She’s never seen him smile as much the entire time she’s known him as he has in the course of this one conversation.

“There was a whole litter of them that had been rescued from some awful breeder in a city a little east of us, Dreadfort,” he says. “You’re not really supposed to breed wolf dogs— people like them because they look beautiful, but they’re not like normal dogs. They’re a lot smarter, a lot harder to train. They can be really skittish with people. You have to be dedicated to caring for them right. Most people don’t know how, or don’t have the time to dedicate to them, and they end up in shelters again or are put down.” He shakes his head, seeming to remember where he was originally going with his story. “Anyways. I don’t even remember how we heard of it, or why they were sent to Winterfell, but there were six puppies, and six of us, and it just felt… meant to be. They’re a lot of work— we didn’t take the decision lightly. But the moment I laid eyes on Ghost, I just knew I was supposed to have him in my life.”

There’s something in Jon’s eyes as he speaks of his dog, a shine to them that she doesn’t generally see— it’s captivating, enchanting, pulling her in. He loves his dog so much, she can just tell, and she admires that.

“So what are the others’ names?” Dany asks, wanting him to keep talking. She’s beginning to find that the sound of his voice is addictive. “Some of them come hiking with you and Ghost, right?”

“Aye,” he answers, leaning against the bartop. “My sister Arya has Nymeria, and my brother Robb has Grey Wind. They’ll come with me pretty often, though Robb hasn’t as much as of late; he and his wife are havin’ a baby in a few months. And then Sansa’s got Lady, though Sansa isn’t exactly… an outdoors girl.” He chuckles at that, and she smiles when he meets her eye. “Sometimes she’ll send Lady along with us, even if she doesn’t come. Wolf dogs need a lot of exercise, and she runs her every day, but there’s nothing like really hikin’ through the mountains.”

“That’s three,” Dany says, holding up three fingers. The last drink is really hitting her now, her mind starting to get a little fuzzy, but Jon’s eyes remain perfectly clear, that warm, deep brown pulling her in.

“My younger brother Bran has Summer, and then the youngest, Rickon, has Shaggydog,” Jon says with a quick huff of laughter. “We all tried to talk him out of that name, but he was thirteen at the time, and he insisted.”

“And you have Ghost,” Dany finishes, ticking off six fingers.

“Aye,” Jon says with a small smile. “I have Ghost.”

“He’s a sweet dog,” Dany says, thinking back to that day in the park, the way he had nearly pushed her over in his demand to be petted. Jon snorts in laughter, shaking his head.

“He is, yes. He’s also too smart for his own good, and attention-seeking, and never lets me cook _any_ type of meat without beggin’ endlessly.” His lips twitch up again, in the slightest suggestion of a smile, before he looks down. “But he’s a good boy.”

She smiles at the look on his face, how clear it is that he loves his dog dearly. “How long have you had him?” she asks.

“About three years, now,” Jon says. “His third nameday is in a month, I think.” He folds his arms, leaning forward on the bar, and Dany tries not to get distracted by the muscles of his forearms, how strong his hands look, folded against the wood. “What about you? Do you have a dog?”

“No,” she says. “Just cats. I have three of them,” she says, smirking at the way his eyebrows raise. “I do like dogs, I’d just feel terrible leaving one home all day by itself. I work twelve hour days, sometimes.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Jon swears, shaking his head at her. His eyes drop down to the bar top, before he looks up at her again, meeting her gaze. “So just you and your cats, then? No one else in your life?”

Dany fights off the grin threatening to overtake her face, because as subtle as he’s trying to be, she _knows_ he’s fishing. She’s pushed off enough interested guys in bars to know what he’s really asking her. In a surprising twist, though, she finds she doesn’t really mind. There’s something about the way he says it, the honest look in his eyes, that tells her he’s not just asking for his own self interests. He’s genuinely curious about her life.

“Gods, no,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine doing that to another person. Work takes up so much of my life, I don’t think I’d have any time to give to someone else.” Plus, of course, all the lingering doubts and scars from her last serious relationship, that crippling fear that her heart is still ruined from it, that she’ll never _really_ be able to care for another person again. But even though she is enjoying talking to Jon, she’s not ready to let him see _that_ side of her yet.

She shivers slightly, not sure if it’s from the cold or the memories of her past, but Jon frowns, his lips pursing. “You cold?” he asks, and she shrugs.

“Just a little. I’m fine.” The thin material of her sleeveless dress isn’t exactly helping keep her warm, and it has gotten chilly, now that the sun is gone, but she’ll manage.

Jon has already turned around, though, grabbing his leather jacket from behind the bar, offering it to her. “Oh, no, it’s okay, Jon, really,” she insists. “You don’t have to…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures her, reaching over to drape the jacket over her shoulders. Dany curls into it, her heart thumping at the scent of Jon that lingers on it, woodsy and clean. “I don’t need it. This isn’t cold to me.”

“Right,” she says, shooting him an amused look. _Northerners._ “This must seem like nothing after growing up in Winterfell.”

He nods, wiping up a spill on the bar with a cloth. “Most of the time I don’t mind the warmer weather, though it’s too bloody hot here in the summer,” he tells her. “But compared to growin’ up in those winters, King’s Landing is nothing. I had to spend two weeks at the Fist of the First Men once. I’ve never been so fuckin’ cold in my life. After that, I don’t think anythin’ will affect me.”

Her eyebrows raise, surprised. “You’ve been north of the Wall?” she asks, trying to keep her tone conversational, not convey how deeply interested she is in everything he is revealing about himself, piece by piece.

He looks at her, slightly puzzled. “Aye. I served in the Night’s Watch for five years.”

“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. “I didn’t realize you were ex-military.” It makes sense, now that she thinks about it. He has a warrior’s build, all that toned muscle, that suggests a lifestyle full of training beyond what a normal person would do at a gym. The way he surveys the space around him, like he’s absorbing every detail. And then that slight, haunted look hidden deep in his brown eyes that she sees sometimes— like he’s seen things, has demons that won’t quite let him go yet.

She is all too familiar with that look.

Maybe, she can’t help but think, as she draws his jacket tighter around her, she and Jon Snow have more in common than she originally thought.

***

Jon had started his shift thinking it would be another typical night.

He doesn’t mind working Friday nights. Friday nights mean good tips, and they also mean a few hours of peace and quiet at the end of the night, once everyone has left for the clubs lining the street, so they could go dancing. The early rush of people pregaming lasts till about ten, and then it begins to quiet down, the chaos fading, and he can just focus on one person at a time.

Still, when he had turned around and seen one of those people perched at the edge of the bar was _Daenerys,_ his heart had stopped a little.

He’d never seen her outside of work, he had realized, as he’d taken in her little black dress and long silver-blonde waves, tumbling down her back instead of held back in fancy braids. She had been scrolling through her phone, and even though she had _technically_ been on Gendry’s side of the bar, he had gone to get her her drink anyways. And then she had started _talking_ to him, her eyes bright, a little grin playing at her lips, and he had forgotten all of his usual bartending duties in favor of her.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been talking at this point; the bar is beginning to clear out for the night, everyone headed off to the clubs, which Jon’s grateful for. He’s been able to stand here and talk with Daenerys with minor interruptions while Gendry handles the rest of the people still in need of drinks. Jon knows he’s probably losing out on decent tip money, but he also sort of… doesn’t care, which should be blasphemous for him.

There’s something about Daenerys here that is just completely enthralling. It reminds him of when he’d seen her in the park, or when she’d asked him about the riverlands, on their way up to a meeting. She’s almost a different person than the one he sees at Tyrell, the hardened businesswoman mask shed, the young woman below shining through. Except, she’s also _not—_ there’s still something inexplicable about her that is so, _so_ Daenerys. That fire in her eye as she speaks, though it’s not directed at him this time. Her passion, her dedication, the power behind her words. She’s captivating, and she has pulled him under her spell, completely.

He may go back to Tyrell next Thursday and discover that her mask is firmly back in place, that she’ll have nothing but cold, clipped instruction for him, purely professional as they argue over his social media agreements. But he’s going to cherish this Daenerys in front of him, this woman that makes his heart speed up, makes him want to stand here and talk all night.

“You know, I’ve never even seen snow,” she says, pulling his jacket tighter around her, and Jon can’t help the way his eyebrows raise.

“Truly?” he asks. She nods, pulling a face. “That’s… so strange. I can’t even fathom having never seen snow,” he tells her. She laughs, taking another sip of the drink he’d just made her. He’s lost count of how many she’s had at this point— her cheeks are flushed pink, those gorgeous blue eyes shining, making his heart quicken. Gods, she’s _so_ fucking pretty. He’s been trying not to stare at her all night, but he’s fairly certain he’s failing miserably.

“It got cold in the winter on Dragonstone, but never cold enough for snow,” she says. “And anytime work does a winter shoot on location in the North, I never get to go.”

“Let me guess,” he says with a smirk. “Too much other work to be doing?”

She sighs, nodding her head. “I swear to gods, it’s more stressful for me to actually take time off. I know I’ll have so much work backlogged by the time I get back, I spend the entire break thinking about it.”

Jon grimaces, shaking his head slowly. He’s not sure how she does it and stays sane. He’s about to open his mouth and say just that, but then Missandei appears at her side, hands falling on her friend’s shoulders.

“Daenerys, there you are! We’re going dancing next door now,” she says, smiling at her friend, clearly already tipsy. Jon’s heart thuds, realizing that she’s going to leave now. Daenerys hesitates, not saying anything, her eyes flitting back to him.

Missandei follows her gaze, her own eyes lighting up when they land on him. “Oh my gods! Hi, Jon!” she says, smile bright. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I work here,” he says, hand covering the back of his neck instinctually, fingers rubbing at the top of his spine just to have something to do.

“That’s such a funny coincidence,” Missandei says, another man appearing behind her, taking her hand. She turns towards him briefly, sending him a radiant smile. “Daenerys, you ready to go?”

Her eyes flit from Jon down to her drink, still mostly full, before she looks over at Missandei again. “You know, I just ordered a new drink,” she says, and Jon’s heart speeds up, suddenly filling with hope. “I think I’ll stay a minute longer, finish it, and then I’ll come over and meet you. Is that alright?”

“Of course,” Missandei says, leaning in to drop a kiss on her friend’s cheek. “We’ll be right next door. Enjoy your drink.” She turns to Jon then, her caramel eyes sparkling. “Jon, do _not_ let her check her work email at all.”

“I won’t,” he says, spreading his hands in surrender. Daenerys flashes him a fiery look, although there’s a smile creeping across her face, tugging at the corners of her mouth, making his heart speed up.

Missandei flashes him another big smile, before she’s leaving, tugging the guy behind her along. “So good to see you, Jon!” she calls, and then it’s just him and Daenerys again, her eyes fixed on his.

“Missandei is convinced I am a workaholic,” she says, sighing dramatically. Jon tries not to laugh at how put off she sounds, because he’s known her barely a month, and he can tell that is _exactly_ what she is.

“I mean, I don’t want to say it, but…” he starts, teasing. Others take him, when was the last time he _teased_ someone besides his roommates and his siblings? This woman is doing something to him, that hole in his chest not feeling so gaping, so overwhelming.

“Is it worth it, though?” he asks her. “The long days, the endless meetings? Do you love what you do?”

She sighs, shrugging her shoulders slightly, before pulling his jacket tighter around her. Jon can feel his heart thump at the sight, seeing her curled into his clothing, the large jacket much too big on her, swallowing her whole. She looks absolutely adorable, he can’t help but think.

“It’s worth it, yes,” she says. “I mean, working twelve hour days is exhausting, and constantly being attached to my phone so that people can reach me is annoying. I don’t love the actual, physical amount of work. I don’t think any sane person could.” She laughs, tracing her finger around the condensation on her glass. “But I love the impact my work has. I love what this company does. What it’s doing, for the planet.”

She looks up at him then, her sea blue eyes catching his, holding him captive. Not that he’d want to break free anyways. “You know why we signed you as a sponsor? The reason we have this whole ‘Get Out There’ campaign in the first place?” He shakes his head silently, watching her. “Our profits were down so much that we weren’t going to be able to continue our work to protect national parks and nature preserves. We were going to have to seriously scale down the philanthropic branch of the company, unless we expanded to new markets and got our profits back up.”

Jon’s eyebrows raise— _that_ he had not known. He thought he was just another spokesperson, just like the rest of them.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you that,” she says, laughing a little. “Did legal have you sign an NDA? I can’t remember.” He shakes his head, not sure either.

“Don’t worry,” he assures her. “I won’t say anythin’ about it.”

“I know,” she says, smirking. “You may drive me _insane_ at times, with your stubbornness, but you are definitely a man of honor.”

He raises his eyebrows incredulously, watching as she takes another sip of her drink. _“I’m_ stubborn?” he asks, and she smiles, rolling her eyes. “You’re the one insistin’ I speak about a bunch of _useless_ products every week.”

“Useless for you, maybe,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “There are a lot of products in the line geared towards first time campers. Like that… _stupid_ fucking campstove thing.”

He laughs fully at that, thinking back to the weekend in the stormlands. Sansa had _loved_ the thing, insisting on using it for all her meals, even when he’d offered to show her how to make an _actual_ fire with it. _You’re cheating,_ he had told her, before she had leveled him with a withering glare that had scared him off from ever approaching the subject with her again.

“But anyways,” she says, shaking her head, seeming to collect her thoughts. “To answer your question. No, I don’t enjoy the paperwork, the endless meetings, the _stupid_ problems I always seem to have to deal with. But knowing what the company’s doing, how we’re helping to protect the planet…” she trails off, shrugging. “That makes it worth it for me. I’d do much more than I’m doing now, just knowing the impact we’re having to save the environment.”

Jon nods, taking in her words. It’s admirable, how much she’s willing to sacrifice for the good of the planet.

“It’s amazing, what you’re doing,” he says, meeting her eyes again. He leans closer on the bar, watching her watch him, her eyes fixed on his. “But with all that time working, do you ever get to go enjoy the world you’re trying so hard to save?”

She blinks, her mouth falling open slightly, like she’s never considered that. “You know, I don’t, really,” she says. “I used to hike a lot in college, and even right after I graduated. But nowadays…” she shakes her head, looking down, before chuckling slightly to herself. “Maybe that’s why I love seeing Ghost’s instagram. Seeing all the places you two get to go.”

“That’s why I have it,” he says. “I started it as a joke— well, my sister started it, really. When I moved to King’s Landing, my two younger brothers wanted to still see pictures of Ghost, so Arya set it up for me, showed me how to post photos so Bran and Rickon could keep up.” He shrugs, thinking back to the early days of Ghost’s account. “And then before I knew it I was gaining followers.” She smiles, meeting his eyes again, hers full of intrigue.

“I’ve never really been one for social media,” he says. “I couldn’t have it, when I was in the Watch. And even before then, I never understood the appeal of documenting every single moment of my life. But Ghost’s account— it helps people see the beauty in this shit world. And it’s worth it to keep postin’ if I can help inspire people to go find that beauty for themselves.”

Daenerys just laughs, her eyes sparkling at him in a way that makes his heart stutter. “If  you ever say that to Margaery, I think she would swoon,” she says. “That’s practically her mission statement for this new campaign.”

“That does make me feel better about this sponsorship,” he says. “Half the time, I hate instagram. But if I can use it to do some good for people, it’s worth it, I guess.”

“You know, if you learned how to use it properly, you might not hate it as much,” she says with a smirk. Jon rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile at the glint in her eyes.

“Speaking of,” she continues. “I’ve been wondering. I know you can’t use instagram; I’ve seen you try and fail a _lot_ in the past few weeks. So how did you find me and figure out how to _follow_ me?”

Jon groans, tipping his head back. Fucking _Arya._ He’s going to kill his little sister later.

“I didn’t,” he admits, finally looking at her again. “I was talkin’ about our meeting on the way to Riverrun, and before I knew it my sister Arya had found you and followed you. Stubborn pain in the arse.”

“Oh, she sounds just like you,” Daenerys jokes, smiling widely, and Jon’s heart thumps again, captivated by the beautiful grin across her face. “I hope I get to meet her.”

“She’ll probably come to that launch event at the Kingswood next week,” he says. “She said she needs photographic proof of people lining up to meet me.” He tries to push the _terrifying_ thought of Arya meeting Daenerys from his mind, focusing instead on the woman in front of him, how she laughs at his words.  

He’s not even sure how much more time passes, the two of them chatting and laughing down at the end of the bar, the rest of the customers filtering out without Jon even noticing. Before he knows it, Davos is tapping him on the shoulder, letting him know it’s midnight, and that his shift is done— it’s cleared out enough that just him and Gendry can easily close.

“Oh, gods, is it really that late?” Daenerys asks, glancing down to check her phone. “I should get going. Missandei’s probably wondering where I am.”

“They’re at the club next door, right?” Jon asks. She nods.

“One or two down, I think. This one?” She shows him the address on her phone, and he nods.

“Aye. I can walk you down, if you want.”

Her eyebrows raise, and for a moment Jon is scared he overstepped, pushed her too far. “Oh, I don’t want to make you,” she says, and is he imagining it, or do her cheeks flush ever so slightly? It’s probably the alcohol, but still. She looks so pretty, staring at him with those big blue eyes, like she’s trying to figure him out.

Generally people staring at him like that makes him uncomfortable, drags bad memories right up to the surface, but Daenerys’s gaze doesn’t do that to him. Especially since he’s sure he’s been looking at her the same way all night.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “I’m leavin’, and I have to go that way anyways.” He doesn’t add the fact that he’ll have to come back to get his car and clock out. That seems slightly unimportant.

She pauses a minute, considering. “All right,” she finally says, lips quirking slightly. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he answers, his heart humming happily. He doesn’t want to stop speaking with her. Seeing her like this is intoxicating.

They chat as they walk the short distance to the club, Jon trying to stop his heart from racing as she pulls his jacket closer around her. They stop outside the door, Jon shoving his hands in his jean pockets, not sure what to say next.

“Jon,” Daenerys starts, and he turns his head, meeting her eyes. “I…” She bites at her lip, and he’s taken aback by how unsure she looks. It’s something he’s never seen on her before— every conversation they’ve ever had before, she’s been nothing but fire, determination, surety.

“I wanted to apologize,” she says, finally, and he just blinks at her. “I’ve been sort of terrible to you at work, about this whole sponsorship thing. And I know it’s not an excuse, but I’ve had so much other work to juggle…” she trails off, shaking her head, but Jon can only stand there, still a little in shock. “I just want to save the company,” she says, looking up to meet his eyes. “And I’m sorry for being so awful to you because of it.”

“You haven’t been,” Jon insists, his voice finally coming back to him. “It’s fine, anyways. I know you have a lot of other things you have to handle. And that supervising me wasn’t somethin’ you expected to have to do.” He pauses, smiling at her slightly. “Gods know I’ve been stubborn as well.”

“With good reason,” she says softly. “I understand now. What that account means to you, and to other people.”

His lips tug up involuntarily at that, and he’s transfixed by her eyes, the softness in them as she looks back at him. “Still,” he says. “You have nothin’ to apologize for, Dany.”

Her eyebrows raise slightly, and his use of the nickname registers too late in his brain. He’s not sure where that came from. It just sort of felt right.

“Dany,” she says in disbelief, her lips quirking to the side. “I don’t think anyone’s called me that since my brother.”

Even with the smile on her lips, Jon can see the pain in her eyes at the mention of her brother, something dredging up past memories she clearly does not want to revisit. “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. He understands the need to force away the past all too well. “Not Dany, then.”

He’s surprised, though, when she shakes her head, meeting his eyes again, something inexplicable in hers. “No,” she says, determined. “I like it when you say it.”

Jon’s heart stutters at that, not sure what to make of her words. Still, there’s a warmth that fills his chest, spreading as she smiles at him, soft and shy.

“Tonight has been really nice,” she says, finally, breaking the silence. She pulls off his jacket, handing it back to him, and he tucks it under his arm. “Thank you, Jon.”

He smiles back at her, trying to calm his heart. “Any time,” he says. “Have fun with your friends.”

“I will,” she says with one last smile, before she’s turning, pulling her ID from her purse and heading into the club.

Jon watches her silver hair until he can’t see her anymore, and then he turns, walking back to the bar by himself.

“Sorry,” he says to Davos as soon as he’s back inside. There’s only two people at the bar now, weekend regulars. “I’ll clock out for ten minutes ago.”

Davos shakes his head, patting Jon on the shoulder as he passes him. “Don’t worry about it, son.” Jon nods gratefully, grabbing his timecard from the rack, scribbling down the time.

“So,” Gendry says, leaning back against the bartop, eyes fixed on Jon. “You going to tell us who that pretty blonde you spent half the night flirting with is?”

Jon can feel his cheeks flush, but it doesn’t stop him from glaring at his friend, eyes narrowing in warning. “I wasn’t flirtin’,” he insists, but Gendry just laughs.

“You were smiling at her. I think I even heard you _laugh_ once or twice. So who is she?”

Jon exhales in aggravation, knowing Gendry won’t let this go until he has an answer. “She’s just someone I know from the sponsorship thing I’m doing,” he says, hoping that satisfies Gendry’s curiosity. Gendry’s eyes widen, though, his mouth falling open in shock.

“Is _that_ the woman Arya was tellin’ me about, who you fancy?” Jon groans at that, tipping his head backwards. Sometimes he wishes that he’d never introduced Arya to Gendry.

“I don’t fancy her,” Jon insists, though he’s starting to doubt his own words, his heart thumping traitorously at the thought of Dany’s soft smile, the way she’d looked wrapped up in his jacket. “Arya needs to mind her own godsdamned business.”

Gendry snorts. “We know that’s never going to happen.”

“Did you find out who Jon’s woman is?” Davos asks, coming back into the bar from the kitchen.

Jon groans again, throwing a glare to Davos. “Not you too.” Davos just smiles. “She’s not my _woman,”_ he insists. “She’s just the person helping me with this sponsorship thing.”

“Still,” Davos says, a kindly smile on his face. “I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen you smile that much in one shift.”

Jon just rolls his eyes, trying to fight off the implications of that statement. He’ll deal with that later. “Okay, I’m leaving,” he says, sticking his time card back in the holder on the wall, grabbing his keys. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

“Bye, loverboy,” Gendry calls behind him, guffawing when Jon flips him off from the doorway, not even bothering to look backwards.

Still, once he’s in the peace and quiet of his car, he can’t get Dany’s face out of his mind. The soft fall of her moonbeam curls, the sparkle in her eyes, the smile playing at her lips. As irritating as Gendry’s teasing is, he does have a point. And he hopes, more than anything, that the next time they meet, her cold mask of indifference isn’t back in place.

His roommates are still awake when he walks into the apartment, all sprawled out on the couch watching the game, empty beer bottles littering the coffee table. Ghost looks up from his spot on the couch, shoved between Grenn and Edd, tail thumping against Grenn’s lap as he catches sight of Jon.

“Bloody hell, Ghost, you’re beating me to death,” Grenn grumbles, Jon chuckling as he beckons for Ghost to come to him. His dog leaps off the couch, meeting Jon halfway as he kneels next to the coffee table, scratching Ghost’s head.

“Hi, boy,” Jon says, ruffling the fur between Ghost’s ears. His dog chuffs at him, pressing his cold nose to Jon’s cheek, making him smile.

“The game’s still going?” Jon asks, eyes flitting up to the television. The Lions of Casterly Rock are playing his home team, the Winterfell Direwolves, the score tied.

“The fuckin’ Lions are playing well tonight,” Edd grumbles. “It’s in overtime.” He throws Jon a suspicious look. “Didn’t you have the game on at the bar?”

He shrugs, not really remembering. “Probably. I dunno. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“That busy tonight?” Pyp asks, moving over so Jon can take the seat next to him on the sectional sofa. Ghost follows him, hopping up next to him and resting his head in his lap.

Jon shakes his head, eyes still on the game. “Not really, no. Pretty quiet for a Friday, actually.” Not that he minded. If it had been any busier, he probably wouldn’t have been able to talk to Dany for most of the night. He can’t help the smile that creeps across his face, thinking of the hours they spent talking like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He looks away from the TV at his flatmates’ silence, finding all three of them staring at him. “What?” he asks, suddenly self conscious.

“You’re smiling,” Edd says. Jon just blinks.

“So?” he demands. “Am I not allowed to smile?”

“You are, but that doesn’t mean you ever do,” Grenn says, taking a sip of his beer. “What happened that has you in such a good mood? It’s sure as hell not the way your team is playing.”

“Nothin’ happened,” he says, shaking off his friends, turning his eyes down to Ghost. It seems, though, that his dog is giving him a disapproving look as well, deep red eyes squinting at him.

“Bullshit,” Pyp says, fixing him with a look. “You’re always broody when you get home from work. So what happened?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Did you meet a girl?”

Jon reaches over to shove Pyp’s shoulder, but it doesn’t stop his friends from noticing the flush across his cheeks. “Look at him; he _did!”_ Grenn laughs, finishing his beer.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, his gaze steadfast on the television. His friends immediately sober— they’d all served at the Wall with him, and they’re no strangers to the horrors of his past.

“Sorry, Jon,” Pyp says, always the fastest to apologize. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just… good to see you smile like that.”

Jon frowns, scratching behind Ghost’s ears again. “Why does everyone keep tellin’ me that?”

“Because it’s true,” Edd says, giving him a look. “So who’s this girl that has you lookin’ happy for once in your miserable life?”

Jon exhales, Dany flooding his mind again, and the corners of his mouth tug up slightly, against his will. “It’s the woman from Tyrell,” he says, finally giving in. “The one I’m working with for this sponsorship. Daenerys. She was there tonight.”

Pyp’s eyebrows raise. “She just showed up at the bar you happen to work at?”

“She was there for a friend’s nameday,” Jon says, leaving out the bit where she blew off her friends to stay and talk with him instead of following them to go dancing. “But she sat down at the bar, and we talked for a while.”

“Gods, she must be something special if you _talked_ to her for a while,” Edd says. “We all know how good you are with words.”

Jon shrugs. “She’s easy to talk to.”

“Well that’s a bloody feat of its own,” Edd says, chuckling.

“Good for you, Jon. I’m happy for you,” Pyp adds, shooting him a cheery grin. “Let us know when the wedding is, alright?”

“Shove off,” Jon says, shooting Pyp a look. “It’s not like that.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Edd says, sharing a look with Pyp. “Though he clearly wants it to be.”

Jon is ready to snap back at both of them, but instead the crowds on the TV erupt into cheers, the Direwolves having finally scored to end the overtime and win the game. Ghost barks his approval, Jon chuckling to himself as he strokes Ghost’s head, trying to calm his dog down.

“Thank the fucking gods,” Grenn mutters, standing. “I have to be up early for work tomorrow.” Grenn had only done one tour at the Wall— after the riots, when his contract was up, he had gone home instead, joined the City Watch. Sometimes Jon wonders how different his life would be if he had done the same.

“Good night, you lot,” he says. “Jon, no loud sex dreams about Daenerys, alright? Our walls are thin.”

“For fuck’s sake, Grenn, what’s wrong with you?” Jon says, glaring at his friend. He sinks his fingers into Ghost’s fur, trying _desperately_ not to think of Dany in his bed, imagining what she would feel like, taste like, sound like pressed underneath him. He’s not even sure what he feels for her, to be honest. He can’t let his mind go there.

“A lot,” Grenn answers nonchalantly. “See you in the morning.”

The rest of them say good night as well, heading off to their respective rooms, Ghost following behind Jon. He gives his dog a quick pat before climbing in the shower, washing the scent of seafood and spilled alcohol off himself. By the time he walks back into his room, dressed for bed and hair still half wet, Ghost is curled up in the middle of his bed, sound asleep.

Jon chuckles, shoving his dog over so that he can climb into bed as well. “Move, you beast,” he says, Ghost growling as Jon manhandles him over. There’s a reason he’s the one in the apartment with the king sized bed— even if he has to pay a little more in rent for the bigger room, it’s worth it to not have his bed completely commandeered by his dog.

Ghost curls up into his side once Jon’s in bed, the feel of his silky fur grounding him. Generally sleep is hard for him to find— not as bad as it was three years ago, but nightmares never _truly_ fade. He rakes his fingers up and down Ghost’s flank, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. In the dim light, his fur almost looks like moonlight.

Unbidden, Dany pops into his mind again, her moonbeam curls around her face, the way she had laughed when he’d teased her, her cheeks flushing the prettiest shade of pink. The way her lips quirked to the side in that adorable smile. The sparkle of light in her gorgeous eyes as they’d met his, never looking away.

Before Jon knows it, he’s drifting off to sleep, nightmares nowhere to be found.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48087184938/in/dateposted-public/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She pauses for a moment, mulling his words over. One moment, he’s bold and daring, complimenting her and making her heart flutter, and then the next he’s back to that easy dismissal of himself that drives her mad. Jon Snow is like no other man she’s met before— he’s beyond intriguing to her, almost infuriatingly so. Never before has a brand ambassador gotten under her skin like he has— he’d annoyed her so ardently that she forgot herself and let her temper make decisions for half their meetings, but then he still stripped away her professionalism with that simple, slight smile, catching a glimpse of the person below, the one she thought was so well hidden away. She can’t even remember the last time she let a man see any side of her other than the one she’s crafted so carefully. There’s just something about Jon that is different. 
> 
> Before, she had thought that difference was something bad, something to push away. But the more she gets to really know him, the more she sees who he is beyond just an aggravating spokesperson to deal with, she’s beginning to wonder if maybe she was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I am back! 
> 
> Sorry for that long delay in between chapters-- I wanted to get some stuff written for Jonerys week, then I was on vacation, so I didn't have as much time to write as I had hoped. In the future I will try to make sure the waits are not too long! That being said, hopefully this chapter makes up for the delay :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting on this story-- all the love and feedback I've gotten is beyond wonderful. I love hearing what everyone has to say about this fic! 
> 
> Thanks bunches too to the lovely Fer and Giulia for reading through this for me-- you both are gems. I'm stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter as well if you want to find me there. 
> 
> Enjoy!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48280760351/in/dateposted-public/)

 

Sometimes, Dany wonders what it would be like to work like a normal person. 

She’d never done that, save for her few retail jobs before she’d gone away to university. Even after she had graduated— and a year early, at that— she had thrown herself right into her work, giving everything she had to it. And then Olenna had offered her a job, and she had climbed her way up the ladder at Tyrell, her work days getting longer and longer with every promotion. 

Dany hadn’t minded. Her work was rewarding, and keeping busy, especially back then, had helped ward off past demons. 

But there are times she wonders how different her life would be if she left the office after eight hours instead of eleven or twelve. If her work email wasn’t the most used app on her phone. If she didn’t spend most of her leisure time still fielding problems for the company. 

It’s not a reality she’ll ever know, though, so most of the time she pushes the thought from her mind. 

They’re at the point of the night where it’s so late that hardly anyone else is left in the office; Dany’s about five minutes away from sending Missandei home, while she and Margaery continue to make painstaking progress on sorting out the rest of the details for the launch event Saturday. 

“I’ve heard back from Oberyn’s representatives, but they’re still unwilling to say if he’ll be there,” Dany tells the other woman. Margaery groans, leaning back in her chair opposite Dany’s, crossing her feet where they rest on the edge of the desk. 

“They understand that if he _will_ be here, we’d like to be able to tell people about it before, don’t they?” Margaery questions. Dany sighs, nodding her head as she scans the email again. 

“I understand that, but clearly they do not,” she says with a roll of her eyes. 

A knock sounds on the door, Dany waving Missandei in with a smile. “Are you heading out?” 

“Not quite yet,” Missandei says, and the trepidatious look she gives Dany is enough to make her stomach sink with dread. “Renly just called. Engineering just discovered there’s an issue with one of the late adds— an electrical malfunction, I think they said. They’re discussing if they have to issue a recall, and they want you tomorrow from nine to noon.” 

Dany groans, her head dipping forward. A three hour meeting about _recalls_ sounds torturous. Not to mention it’ll definitely delay all the work she and Margaery still have to finish for the launch event that’s in mere days.

“Do they really need me all three hours?” Dany asks. Missandei grimaces apologetically. 

“Renly seemed to think so.” 

She groans again, raking a hand through her hair, pushing back strands that had escaped her braids sometime during the day. “Alright, fine, put it in my calendar. I’ll have to push my other morning meetings, I guess. What’s tomorrow again?” 

“Thursday,” Margaery reminds her. It’s been one of those weeks— though lately, _every_ week has been one of those weeks. 

“I have Jon tomorrow at ten,” she realizes. “Gods, I’m going to have to reschedule with him as well.” 

“When is he in, ten to eleven?” Margaery asks, pulling up her own calendar. Dany just nods. “Do you mind if I just steal him for that meeting? I want to go over everything marketing needs from him leading up to the event Saturday. And if he has any social media questions, or needs posts approved, I can do it.” She smiles brightly at Dany. “Then you don’t have to reschedule with him for later.” 

Dany knows Margaery is doing her a favor, but a part of her sort of deflates at the thought of not seeing Jon. By the time she had gotten home Friday night after Grey’s nameday celebrations, she had been drunk enough to not remember most of her time at the club, but she does remember sitting at the bar, talking with Jon for hours. The lilt of his smile, that light in his eyes. The way her heart had stuttered when he’d teased her. 

She’s not sure what it will be like when they meet again, back in her office. Half of her is terrified to face him, after she let down all semblance of professionalism around him. The other half of her just desperately wants to see him again. 

“Alright,” she says, smiling at the other woman, hoping she can’t see that it doesn’t truly reach her eyes. “Thank you, Margaery.” 

The meeting the next morning is _horrendously_ dull, Dany sorting through other work on her laptop at the conference table until she’s needed, launching into detailed explanations when prompted of what a recall would involve for the company at this point, from a PR standpoint. Most of it is engineering and legal arguing over whether the issue is prominent enough, which Dany tunes out. She watches as the clock passes ten, then eleven, something inside her panging at the thought of Jon coming and going without her even getting to see him. 

By eleven thirty legal has been convinced that they don’t need to issue a recall, Dany sighing in relief— even if it means she sat in a meeting for two and a half hours for practically nothing, it also saves her a tremendous amount of work. She says goodbye to Renly before starting down the hall, back to her office for the half hour off before her next meeting. Then she has another half hour break, and then her rescheduled meeting with Jorah, another meeting afterwards, before she has an hour, maybe, off, then another two hour meeting that she _probably_ isn’t needed for, but is required to attend anyways… 

She’s so absorbed in running through the rest of her schedule that she barely even notices she’s about to walk into someone. Hands reach out, catching her shoulders, stopping her from colliding with the person before her.

“Oh, gods, I’m so— Jon?” she says, her brain finally registering exactly who she’s stumbled into. He doesn’t say anything, but his mouth quirks up a little into that barely-there smile from the bar, her heart speeding up at the sight of it. “I thought you’d be gone by now,” she says. His meeting should have ended half an hour ago. 

“Margaery kept me a bit late,” he tells her. She suddenly becomes aware of his hands on her shoulders, the warm, heavy weight of his palms through the thin chiffon of her blouse. He seems to realize he’s still touching her at the same moment, his hands dropping back down to his sides, something unreadable flitting through his eyes. 

“Did she catch you up on everything for Saturday?” Dany asks. She misses the warmth of his touch already.

“She did,” Jon says with a nod. “I’ve already had lots of messages from Ghost’s followers. People are excited to come meet him.” 

“That’s good,” Dany says, before smirking. “I take it you finally figured out how to view your messages, then?” 

“Aye,” he says, and his eyes are so light, so warm, she feels she could get lost in them forever. He shrugs, the corner of his mouth pulling up in the slightest smile. “I have a pretty good teacher.” 

Her heart stutters at that— it sounds like he’s _flirting_ with her, gods be good. But no, he can’t be. She’d been short with him for _weeks,_ and they’d just recently seemed to reach an understanding between them. And Jon doesn’t seem to be the type to throw around pretty words just to flatter people. 

Still, she thinks back to that night in the bar, the soft look he’d given her when he’d called her _Dany._ The way it had made warmth flow through her entire body, all the way down to her toes. 

A part of her wishes he would call her that again. 

Another part is determined not to examine why that might be.

“I’m sorry I had to cancel today,” she says, trying desperately to rein her thoughts in. She and Jon have just started to get along— there is no room for thoughts like that between them, especially when she knows they’re not actually real. Dany’s still not entirely convinced she’s capable of feeling, anymore.

Jon shrugs. “It’s not a problem. I’m sure you enjoyed the break, as well,” he says, meeting her eyes. “Not having to deal with your sponsor who can’t work his own account.” 

She pauses for a moment, mulling his words over. One moment, he’s bold and daring, complimenting her and making her heart flutter, and then the next he’s back to that easy dismissal of himself that drives her mad. Jon Snow is like no other man she’s met before— he’s beyond intriguing to her, almost infuriatingly so. Never before has a brand ambassador gotten under her skin like he has— he’d annoyed her so ardently that she forgot herself and let her temper make decisions for half their meetings, but then he still stripped away her professionalism with that simple, slight smile, catching a glimpse of the person below, the one she thought was so well hidden away. She can’t even remember the last time she let a man see any side of her other than the one she’s crafted so carefully. There’s just something about Jon that is different. 

Before, she had thought that difference was something bad, something to push away. But the more she gets to really know him, the more she sees who he is beyond just an aggravating spokesperson to deal with, she’s beginning to wonder if maybe she was wrong. 

She can’t help the slight smile that pulls at her lips, the need to banish that self deprecation from his eyes overwhelming. His eyes really are lovely, Dany thinks. 

“I’ve grown used to him,” she says, and the smile that tugs at Jon’s mouth is worth letting her walls down a little, she thinks. 

***

Her alarm goes off early Saturday morning, Drogon mewling at her woefully as she picks him up from where he’s draped over her torso, setting him to the side with his brothers so that she can get up. Dany yawns as she shuffles to the kitchen to start the coffee machine— yesterday had been a late night, and now today is sure to be a hellishly long day. 

Still, she’s excited for the Get Out There launch event, even if she does have to get up before seven on her one day to sleep in. She and Margaery had been in the office late last night smoothing out all the last minute details, and now they have to get to the Kingswood hours before the event is slated to start at noon, to oversee setup and solve any problems that arise. 

There are worse ways to spend a Saturday than out in a national park inspiring others to explore nature, she supposes, so she’s not _too_ upset about working on her day off. It certainly beats answering emails, Dany muses, stirring the cream into her coffee. 

She perches at the island and nibbles on some fruit for breakfast while she sips her coffee, scrolling through her phone as she slowly wakes up more and more. Ghost’s story is the first one listed on her instagram— Margaery has had him posting all sorts of things all week, promoting their event. It appears that he is up early as well. 

Dany clicks on it, expecting to see a picture of Ghost with a reminder they’ll be in the Kingswood National Park meeting people this afternoon, eyebrows raising in amusement as a video of Ghost fills her screen instead. 

It _is_ a promotion for the event today, she supposes. One of the captions over the video reminds fans of the hours Ghost will be meeting with people, and the hours of the event in general. But the top one reads “when it’s the day of the Get Out There event and Dad won’t get out of bed,” positioned right over Ghost’s head as he leaps onto what must be Jon’s bed.

She smiles as Ghost paws at an unmoving figure beneath the blankets, clearly still trying to sleep, the only part of him that is visible a messy mop of raven curls. That doesn’t seem to deter the dog, continuing to paw at the mass of blankets like he’s digging for treasure. Ghost whines, nosing at the hidden figure, before barking sharply, seemingly determined to rouse his master. 

“Stop it, you beast,” a sleepy voice mumbles, and Dany’s heart quickens at how low and throaty Jon’s voice sounds first thing in the morning. A hand emerges from the mess of blankets, shoving Ghost away gently, but the dog is determined— he hops over the figure, stepping on the pillows at the head of the bed, nosing more aggressively at the figure still hidden from the camera completely. 

“Alright, alright,” Jon groans, as Ghost successfully manages to pull the covers back, Jon finally revealed. Dany’s heart thuds to a stop as he sits up, one hand pushing his riot of curls out of his face, Ghost immediately tackling him. 

Seeing Jon Snow rumpled and half asleep suddenly has Dany wide awake. 

Jon is attractive— that she had been able to admit from their first meeting, even when he drove her absolutely mad with his stubbornness. But the sight of him in his bed, hair loose and ruffled and eyes half open, his voice gruff and hoarse with sleep— it does something to her that she can’t explain, heat shooting through her, settling low in her belly. He chuckles as Ghost attacks his face with kisses, tail wagging, and Dany’s heart speeds up even _more_ at the sight of his arms as they circle Ghost, all that glorious pale skin revealed to her eyes, muscles rippling as he strokes his dog. 

Jon is attractive, yes, and she has certainly grown to like him more over the past weeks— but for the first time since she’d met him, she finds herself _wanting_ him. 

Dany closes the video just before it ends, heart still racing, mouth dry. She cannot think those things about _Jon._ She can’t let something as foolish as lust get in the way of what she needs to be a successful business partnership. The two of them have just started to get along, and she will not ruin that with baser desires. Not when the fate of Tyrell is at stake. 

But still. She thinks back to the way he had smiled at her Thursday, when she had told him she’d grown used to him. The light in his eyes when she’d said she liked when he called her Dany. The way her heart had fluttered both of those times. Jon is perplexing, tying her emotions up in knots like no man ever has before. He infuriates her, but he also makes her laugh. He’s stubborn and proud and broody, but lately, she’s begun to see that he can be gentle and sweet and unsure as well. 

The thought that maybe the reason her mouth has gone dry at that video is not just because Jon is attractive, but because she _feels_ something for him— that thought is terrifying, frankly. So she forces it down, locks it away in a dark corner of her mind where it cannot bother her. 

She needs to get along with Jon for this campaign. And being his… friend, she guesses, although she wonders if that word is still too strong— is nice, and will hopefully make the course of his endorsement much less painful for both of them. But she does not need to let any other _feelings_ she may or may not have towards him grow. 

Dany puts down her phone, finishing off her coffee and standing. She has an event to get to, and she will not let videos of a sleep-ruffled Jon Snow distract her from saving her company. 

***

Jon takes Ghost to the Kingswood pretty frequently, but he’s never seen it as busy as it right now before. 

The event has just begun when he pulls into the parking lot, Arya in the passenger seat and Ghost sprawled out across the back. Arya had told him she would ride with him to the event, as Gendry had a class this morning and wouldn’t be able to come by until later, but he had hardly expected to wake to not only Ghost jumping on him, but his sister pointing a _camera_ in his face as she captured the entire thing for instagram. 

“It’s adorable,” she had said over breakfast, showing Jon the video. “Ghost looks so excited! It’ll be perfect as advertisement for the event today.” 

“I’m startin’ to think that you should be the sponsor for Ghost, not me,” he had grumbled, finishing off his eggs. But the video was cute, so he had let her post it, even if he was a little wary of a video of him without a shirt on going up online for two million people to see. He had watched it a few times to check, though— his scars weren’t visible, the ugly red gashes hidden by Ghost’s snowy body. 

“This is crazy,” Arya says, climbing out of the car as soon as Jon turns it off. He can only nod in agreement— the event is _huge,_ and looks practically like a carnival. The sprawling picnic field at the base of the hiking trails through the Kingswood has been completely transformed, booths with games, giveaways, demonstrations, and merchandise forming aisles down the field, a stage for the live performances at the head of the space. He can smell the scent of fried food even from the parking lot, and there are balloons everywhere, some of them twisted into an archway by the entrance. Besides the Tyrell employees darting around in “staff” shirts, Jon can see national park volunteers as well, to lead hikes and to educate people on the importance and benefits of donating to national parks. At least, he thinks that ‘s what Margaery said they’d be here for. 

“C’mon, Ghost,” Jon says, clipping a leash to his dog’s collar, holding the door open so he can leap down. He looks up at Jon expectantly as they walk towards the field, tail already wagging at all the excitement ahead of them. Jon’s eyes cast ahead, and though it’s mostly only employees here right now, he can just picture the crowds and crowds of people that will fill the field soon. 

It’s going to be a long day. 

“Jon!” he hears as soon as he walks through the balloon arch, and he turns towards the familiar voice, his breath catching as his eyes land on Dany. 

Jon’s never seen her look so casual before, her usual professional attire replaced with a staff t shirt and leggings, hair shining like silver as it falls around her face in soft waves, instead of being tied back in some complicated knot of braids. She looks younger, lighter, less like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and his heart speeds up at the relaxed smile on her face, the little glimmer of light in her beautiful eyes, flecks of gold dotting the sea blue irises. 

“Daenerys,” he says, not missing the way Arya’s head whips around at his words, her gaze snapping to the woman approaching them. She’s even shorter in sneakers, Jon realizes, as Ghost bounds up to her, pulling on his leash. She kneels in front of his dog, scratching his head affectionately, before standing up again. 

Nerves suddenly flash through him, not sure what to expect. In their brief meeting Thursday, it had seemed like that energy from the bar was still there between them, but he doesn’t know what will happen today. A desperate part of him hopes that those walls of cool professionalism are gone, that the woman here today will be the same one that teased him across the bartop, smiled at his stories, looked at him with interest and curiosity in her beautiful eyes. Like he was as intriguing to her as she is to him. 

“I’m glad you made it,” she says, pulling her hair back, fingers tucking it over her shoulder. “I was worried. I saw you had some trouble waking up this morning.” 

Jon feels his cheeks heat as he realizes what she’s referencing, a strange feeling shooting through him at the thought of her watching that video from his story this morning. “Well, luckily, Ghost is a good alarm clock,” he says, trying to regain control of himself. She just smirks, patting the dog on the head again. 

“Is he ready to meet all his fans?” 

“Aye,” Jon answers. Ghost’s head tilts backwards to look at his owner, tongue lolling, as if to confirm Jon’s statement. 

“Good,” Dany says, beginning to walk, gesturing for them to follow her. “We have all the raffles and product displays set up over here, and then the games and activities are on the other side of the field. We’ll be doing demonstrations and informational sessions opposite the stage, so that they don’t interfere with any crowds waiting for musical guests. We thought we’d have the brand ambassadors over at this booth here,” she says, leading him to a large table. “But feel free to wander. I’m sure Margaery mentioned it as well, but if you could post updates as to what Ghost is up to all day, that would be perfect.” 

“We’ll probably wander throughout the day, if that’s alright,” he says, and she nods. “I don’t want Ghost to get restless, especially if we’re meetin’ new people all day.” 

“Speaking of,” Arya buts in, Jon mentally face-palming, having forgotten she was even there. She arches an eyebrow at Jon, pretending to be annoyed, but he can see the teasing grin pulling at her lips. 

“Gods, I’m sorry, I forgot,” he says, shaking his head. “Dany, this is my sister Arya. Arya, Daenerys Targaryen.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Dany says warmly, stretching out a hand and shaking Arya’s. 

“You as well,” Arya returns, sizing the other woman up. 

“I take it you’re the one who _generally_ runs Ghost’s account for him?” Dany asks, half a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. Jon groans as Arya’s face lights up, her eyes glinting in that way that he _knows_ means she’s about to tease him mercilessly. 

“Yes, that would be me,” Arya says, turning back to Dany. “I should thank you, probably. Ever since he started this sponsorship he’s had much fewer questions for me about running his own bloody account.” She pauses, shooting Jon an amused look. “It’s sort of adorable, watching him try to do things on his own.” 

“Alright,” Jon says, giving his sister a look. She just smirks back at him, unperturbed by the fire in his gaze. Dany seems unaffected as well, glancing at Arya.

“He knows how to do things on his own?” she says, and Arya _cackles,_ tipping her head back as she laughs. Jon’s heart speeds up at the teasing smirk on Dany’s face, the soft look in her eyes as they meet his. He can’t help the little smile that pulls at his mouth in response. 

“Daenerys!” someone calls, and she looks behind her, before turning back to Jon and Arya, apologetic. 

“I have to go,” she says. “Lovely to meet you, Arya. Jon, I’ll be back to check in at some point. Let me or Margaery know if you need anything, alright?” 

“I will,” he says, a hand falling to Ghost’s head again, ruffling his fur. She flashes them one last smile before she’s running off, directing people as she goes. It’s captivating, to watch her, in her leggings and t shirt, hair down, short without her high heels. Even when she looks so casual, with the businesswoman persona practically hidden away, there’s an undeniable air of power about her. 

“I _like_ her,” Arya says as soon as Dany’s out of earshot. Jon laughs, looking over to his sister. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Arya answers decisively. She glances at him slyly, a smirk still pulling at her lips. “She seems to like you much more, after your date at the bar, too.” 

“Gods above,” Jon says, groaning. Fucking _Gendry;_ he should have know he couldn’t trust him to keep _anything_ from his sister. “It was not a date,” he tells Arya with a scowl. “She just happened to be there, and we talked for a bit.” 

“A bit,” Arya says with a chuckle. “Is that how we’re saying _four hours_ now?” 

“I’m going to kill your boyfriend,” Jon declares. 

“Don’t you dare,” Arya retorts. “And it’s _your_ fault he and I reconnected, anyways. Let’s not forget that.” 

“Somethin’ I regret more and more every day,” Jon laments, though he knows Arya can tell he doesn’t mean it. Gendry is a good man, and his friend loves Arya fiercely, as she does him. 

“Seriously, though,” Arya says. “You two seem to get on now.”

Jon shrugs. “We understand each other better.” And they do. She knows what Ghost’s instagram means to him, to his followers, and she respects his reasoning when it comes to his posts. But he also understands where she’s coming from with her suggestions, what this sponsorship means for her company, and how important Tyrell is to her. 

“I’m glad,” Arya says. “Now I don't have to threaten her not to hurt you.” Jon just chuckles, squinting at his sister, shielding his eyes from the bright afternoon sunlight. 

“I’m the older sibling. Aren’t I supposed to be the one threatenin’ people not to hurt _you?”_

“Oh, c’mon, Jon. We both know you love Gendry. And we both know that despite appearances, I’m the scarier one of the two of us.” 

He’s about to respond when two girls appear before them, offering Jon excited grins as they explain that they’re fans of Ghost’s account. He smiles at them, stepping aside so they can pet Ghost, his dog basking in the attention as he exchanges an amused look with his sister. 

He and Arya wander around the fairgrounds, more and more people stopping him to pet his dog as time goes by and more people arrive. The live music starts soon as well, the park becoming more and more crowded, the smell of food and sound of people filling the air. He doesn’t see Dany again, though he keeps glancing among the crowds for a glimpse of her silver head, Arya smirking at him whenever she catches him doing so. 

It’s a fun event, definitely, with games and activities and raffles and such, but Jon is impressed by how educational it is as well. There are guided hikes all day led by park volunteers, as well as demonstrations on equipment, and information sessions on how to get started camping for beginners. He and Arya lurk in the back of one and listen to people learn basic camping skills, like how to start a fire, and Jon feels lighter, seeing everyone so eager to learn, the smiles on peoples’ faces as they realize they could actually go out in the wilderness and do this. He still has reservations about the sponsorship, about this program, but seeing that spark of light in people, that desire to get out there and explore the world— that makes him feel like it’s all worth it. 

He’s pulled from his musings by Ghost barking, a sharp tug on the leash in his hand drawing his attention towards his dog. He sees what made Ghost jump up immediately— Sansa, Robb, and Talisa are headed straight for them, Lady and Grey Wind leading the charge as they tear across the clearing towards their brother. 

“Hi, Jon,” Sansa greets him, pulling him into a quick hug as Ghost, Lady, and Grey Wind run around each other in dizzying circles, barking at each other in excitement. “How has everything been going?” 

“Good,” he says, as Robb claps his back in a bracing hug as well, before Talisa embraces him too. “Ghost is quite popular,” Jon admits, smirking as he looks down at his dog, tangled up with his siblings. 

“Has his ego gone to his head yet, with attention from so many fans?” Robb asks with a laugh. Jon can’t help but smile in response.

“I think he’s gained a pound or two from the treats people keep bringin’ him, at least,” Jon says. Ghost just looks back at him from his spot on the ground, tongue lolling, looking very satisfied with himself. “You’re enjoyin’ this, aren’t you boy?” Ghost chuffs at him, before turning back to Grey Wind, nipping playfully at his brother. 

“And what about you?” Talisa asks, her eyes kind, concerned, but not pitying. Jon’s always liked that about his goodsister— even though she works in hospitals, helps sick people all day, she’s never once looked at him with pity, like he’s a patient still recovering. It makes him feel like maybe he really _is_ okay. 

“I was just about to ask,” Sansa says, her voice worried. “It’s very crowded here.” 

“I’ve been alright,” he says, shaking his head at his siblings. “Since Ghost is with me, it helps.” 

“Good,” Talisa says, with a decisive nod of her head, one hand absentmindedly drifting down to rest over her belly. Jon feels like every time he sees her she’s grown even bigger, somehow. 

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but then a flash of silver catches his eye, the words he had been about to say disappearing like smoke as he spots Dany. She’s talking to Missandei, the two of them walking down the line of booths, making sure everything is in order. His heart speeds up as she turns in his direction, catching sight of him, her beautiful eyes flooding with light. He raises one hand in greeting before she turns back to Missandei, saying something quickly, then leaving the other woman behind. Ghost perks up as she draws closer, tail thumping against the grass. 

“Jon,” she says, looking at him with that beautiful half-smile again, her hair shining like spun silver in the sunlight. Dany surveys the group of people around her, the three dogs on the ground ambling over to her to say hello. “You seem to have amassed quite the fanclub.” 

He gives her a little grin at that, not forgetting introductions this time. “Aye. This is my sister, Sansa, and my brother Robb and his wife Talisa,” he says, pointing them all out. “This is Daenerys, everyone.” 

“Nice to meet you all,” Dany says, smiling at his siblings graciously. Jon hopes desperately that she doesn't notice the shit-eating grin Robb is sending his way. 

“So, Robb and Sansa—,” Dany says, his singled-out siblings nodding in confirmation. “I take it this is Lady and Grey Wind, then?” she asks, petting the dogs on the head.

Jon’s heart squeezes at her words, nodding anyways. “I’m impressed you remembered that,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. She just smirks at him, her chin high, and she holds herself like a queen, he can’t help but think, regal and elegant and _captivating._

“I suppose your words made an impression on me, Jon Snow,” she says, and he thinks his heart might leap right out of his chest. 

He’s half relieved when she immediately begins speaking again, changing the subject, because his mouth is still dry, heart thundering too loudly for him to form coherent thought. “What do you think of the event?” she asks, looking around at everyone in the group, Robb immediately schooling his expression into something more neutral, not the meaningful, teasing look he had been aiming at Jon. “Have you gotten a chance to see everything?” 

“It’s very impressive,” Talisa says, lips curling up in a friendly smile. “We got here not that long ago, but we want to go see everything else still,” she says, looking up at Robb, who smiles back at her adoringly. Sansa looks at Dany, nodding in agreement, though Jon doesn’t miss the apprehension in her eyes as she regards the other woman. 

“Jon and I have looked around since it started,” Arya follows up. “I want to go on one of the hikes later, once Gendry gets here with Nymeria. But everything we’ve done so far has been fun.” 

“Good,” Dany says, a satisfied smile across her face. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

“It’s amazing, Dany,” Jon says, finally finding his voice. “Truly. You did an incredible job with everything.” 

Her cheeks flush the most delicate shade of pink, and she shrugs, smiling at him sincerely. “It was mostly Margaery,” Dany says. “The ideas were all marketing. I just helped them bring it all to life.” 

“Well, it’s still quite stunning,” Sansa says, surveying the fairgrounds again. All his siblings nod in agreement. 

“And there’s live music all day as well?” Talisa asks. Dany nods. 

“Yes, there is. Mostly local bands throughout the day, but then Podrick Payne is performing tonight as well,” she says, grinning at the way Talisa and Sansa perk up. “He’s a brand ambassador. Let me know if you’re going to stay that late; I’ll have Missandei save a spot for you up front,” she says with a wink. She glances down, then, frowning as she fishes her phone out of her leggings. Jon tries not to stare at the smooth, pale skin of her stomach revealed by the motion, before she tugs down her shirt, hiding it from sight. 

“Speaking of,” she says, eyes flitting up to meet his. “Missandei says Oberyn just left the booth we’ve had sponsors at. Do you and Ghost want to take a turn?” 

The idea of being in a designated place for people to come up and swamp him and his dog makes Jon’s skin crawl, but Dany’s eyes are shining, and he cannot say no to her when she looks at him like that. “Sure,” he relents, pleased at the triumphant smile that graces her face. “Lead the way.” 

They all follow her across the fairgrounds, Ghost and his siblings only getting distracted by the scent of fair foods a few times. Margaery is sitting at the booth when they get there, scrolling through her phone absentmindedly. 

“Hi, everyone,” she says, looking up when she hears their approach. It’s strange to see her dressed so casual as well, in a staff t shirt matching Dany’s and cutoff jean shorts, her long hair tied back in a ponytail. 

“Hi, Margaery,” Dany says, smiling at her coworker. “The event is incredible. Jon was just saying so as well.” Margaery preens, her smile absolutely dazzling. 

“It’s going well, isn’t it?” she says. She looks around at everyone, taking them all in. “Jon, is this your family?”

“Aye,” he nods, pointing to everyone in succession. “This is Arya, Sansa, Robb, and Talisa.” 

“Wonderful to meet you,” Margaery says, leaning over to shake everyone’s hands. “I’m Margaery Tyrell, head of marketing.” Jon watches as his siblings shake her hand, not missing the way Sansa looks at the other woman, absolutely _captivated._ He can’t help but smirk, seeing a spark of something in her eyes that almost looks hungry. Margaery looks down, kneeling to the ground as Ghost pads over to her. “And I take it this is Ghost!” 

“That’s him,” Jon says, chuckling as Ghost licks her cheek, Margaery scratching him heartily behind the ears. 

“I’ve been watching his stories all day,” Margaery says, smiling at Jon. “You’ve been doing a great job. Clearly Daenerys is an excellent teacher,” she says with a smirk. Jon swallows, thinking of his and Margaery’s meeting on Thursday, the way she had looked at him knowingly every time she mentioned Dany, as if she could hear his heart speeding up. 

“I’ve been supervising as well,” Arya says as Margaery straightens up. “Although I am impressed he knows how to _get_ to his stories now.” 

Jon shakes his head, glaring at Arya. “I’m not _entirely_ helpless, you know.” 

Dany laughs. “You’ve certainly improved in the field of social media, I’ll give you that.” He can’t help but return her smile. 

“You here to take a turn in the booth?” Margaery says, and Jon nods. “Perfect, Oberyn just left. Half an hour earlier than his agent said he would, as well,” she says, with a roll of her eyes. _“Celebrities,_ I swear to the gods.” She pushes off the table she’s been leaning against, smiling dazzlingly at everyone again, eyes lingering a moment longer on Sansa. “Well, I best be off. Have fun, Jon,” she says, waggling her fingers, before she disappears back into the crowd. 

“I have to go as well,” Dany says, frowning at the phone in her hand. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. Jon, text me if you need anything.” 

“I will,” he promises, Ghost nosing at Dany’s palm for one last round of pats; she obliges with a laugh that makes Jon’s head spin. 

“Nice to meet you, everyone,” she says, and with one last smile, she disappears as well. 

All of his siblings’ eyes are on him the moment she disappears. 

“What?” he says defensively, though he’s pretty sure he already knows what they’re going to say. 

“So that’s Daenerys,” Robb says, a shit-eating grin stretching across his face again. 

“Yes, that’s Daenerys,” he returns. Sansa raises her eyebrows haughtily, giving Jon a look.

“Don’t you mean _Dany?”_ she says cooly. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that you were the only one to call her that.” 

Jon narrows his eyes at her, perfectly content to tease her just as much. “Don’t think we didn’t notice you making heart eyes at Margaery,” he says, and Sansa’s face turns almost as red as her hair. Arya and Robb both burst out laughing, Talisa rolling her eyes in amusement as Robb doubles over. 

“Thank the _gods_ I wasn’t the only one who noticed that,” Robb manages to get out, straightening up again. Sansa crosses her arms, shooting Robb a glare that has him cowering. 

“I was _not_ making heart eyes,” Sansa insists. Arya just rolls her eyes at her sister. 

“Sure you weren’t, Sansa. And Jon isn’t head over heels for Daenerys, either.” 

“Alright,” Jon says, bristling at the conversation being turned back to him. “I’m supposed to be working, now. Off with you lot.” 

His siblings laugh, Sansa patting his arm affectionately as they all turn to leave, meandering through the fair grounds. Jon sighs, looking down at Ghost, who moves to sit on top of his feet, head lolling backwards so he can meet Jon’s eyes. 

He reaches down, stroking Ghost’s ears, trying to push Arya’s words from his mind. Even if she was teasing him— the thudding of his heart at the thought of Dany makes him think there is probably some truth to his sister’s sentiment. 

Jon’s pulled from those thoughts by a group of people appearing, asking if they can pet Ghost. He slips into a routine of greeting people, making amicable small talk with them as they admire his dog. He’s never been one for small talk, but when he’s speaking of Ghost, of their travels, he finds it’s not as bad. 

A group of teenagers come up to him a little later, smiling brightly as they tell him they’re big fans. Jon thanks them, before Ghost noses at one of the girl’s hands, making her giggle. 

“Oh my gods, he’s adorable!” the girl says, kneeling down next to Ghost, scratching behind his ears. Jon smiles at his dog, watching as he basks in the attention, tongue lolling out to the side. 

“He’s so friendly, too,” her friend says. She looks up at Jon, smiling widely. “We love watching his instagram stories, and seeing him all over the country.” 

“I’m glad,” Jon says, a grin tugging at his lips. “That’s why I run the account for him.” 

The rest of the people with them crowd Ghost, who lays down, letting more of the teenagers pet him, his eyes sliding shut contently. “Where are the two of you going next?” one guy asks, looking up from where he’s stroking Ghost’s ears. 

“We might go to the Reach next weekend,” Jon says, shrugging. “I’m not sure, really. Though we’ll be back up North again, once it gets colder.” 

“I love seeing the stories of the North,” a girl says. “I grew up near Highgarden, so I’ve never even seen snow.” Jon smiles slightly, thinking of Dany, the way she had confessed that same fact to him last week, her eyes widening like she was letting him in on a huge secret. 

More people show up behind the group, all of them scooting over so that everyone can pet Ghost. Jon’s spine pricks as more and more people join the group— Ghost is very social, and he does like people, but Jon still has to be vigilant in making sure his dog is not overwhelmed. 

He seems to be fine, though, laying on the ground and soaking in all the attention, all the pets. A few people even bring treats for him, which Ghost happily gobbles up. The group of admirers grows bigger, until there’s a circle of people practically surrounding him, all elbowing for a chance to meet his dog. Jon feels a shiver run down his body, icy cold through his veins, as someone accidentally bumps into his back. 

_Bodies circling him, closing in, trapping him like a caged animal—_

He squeezes his eyes closed, breath growing shallow, trying to remember Robb’s words from a few weeks ago. He’s not there, at the Wall. He will _not_ break down here, in the middle of a fucking _meet and greet_ that _he_ had agreed to in the first place—

“Hey,” he hears next to him, and he turns, opening his eyes to see Daenerys there. The people beside her move to give her more room, after spotting her staff shirt. 

His heart rate immediately slows down, as he’s pulled out of memories at the sight of a familiar face. Her gaze fixes right on him, a hint of a question in her eyes, as blue as the sky above. 

“You alright?” she asks, head tilting a little bit. His voice catches in his throat— Dany and he are _certainly_ on better terms now, and he might even consider them friends— but he’s still not about to unload his past traumas on her. 

“Yeah,” Jon says, forcing himself to nod. She doesn’t look entirely convinced, something shifting in her eyes, her expression growing softer. 

In front of him, Ghost turns towards him, away from his admirers. He whines a little, sensing his owner’s agitation, and Jon reaches for his dog, who pads up to him, nuzzling his head against Jon’s palm.

“It’s just… the crowd,” he says, looking down at Ghost, refusing to meet Dany’s eye. Even with her next to him, he can still feel everyone pressing in, making his skin crawl. “Could we—?” 

“Of course,” Dany says, turning to the group of people in front of them. “Hey, everyone, could we form a line, please? That way you’ll all get a turn to meet Ghost.” 

She organizes everyone into a line, till it’s just a few people coming up at a time to pet his dog. Ghost relaxes, as does Jon, taking a step back from Ghost’s newest fans, while Dany returns to his side. 

“Thanks,” he says, hoping the relief he feels isn’t as palpable in his voice. “I don’t want Ghost to get overwhelmed,” he says, feeling like he needs an excuse. 

She looks up at him, not saying a word, and Jon has to turn his head away, the emotion in her eyes too much for him. Sometimes he feels like she can see right through him. 

But then he feels her fingers brush against his, heart hammering in his chest as she takes his hand in hers hesitantly. Jon gives in almost immediately, tangling their fingers together, trying to remain nonchalant at the feeling of warmth and peace that floods him, her palm fitting against his perfectly. Her skin is so soft, he marvels, like silk, especially against the worn calluses that decorate his hand. His thumb traces over the back of her hand automatically, before he realizes that might be weird, and he stops. 

“I’m surprised at how social he is,” Dany says, eyes fixed on Ghost. “Are wolf dogs generally so friendly?” 

Jon shrugs. “Ghost is friendlier than most. A lot are skittish around other people.” He pauses,  turning towards her finally, taking in the blue of her eyes. “Nymeria hates being around lots of people. She doesn’t even get on with other dogs, really, except her siblings. Ghost is an exception.” 

“He still doesn’t like crowds, though, does he?” Dany asks, and Jon has the sense that she’s not talking about his dog anymore. 

“No,” he says, ducking his head. His gaze darts towards her though, just briefly, and her expression is so soft as her eyes meet his. Full of understanding, not a hint of judgement.

She squeezes his hand in hers, dropping it as another group of people come up to them, kneeling down to greet Ghost. He misses the warmth almost immediately, but that lingering sense of calm that had washed over him at her appearance remains. 

She stays with him until the line dissipates, keeping everyone in order, even though she probably has much more important things to oversee. Jon doesn’t ask her that, though— he can’t find the strength to force the words from his mouth, instead reveling in her presence next to him. 

Missandei appears a little bit later, as the last people in the line to meet Ghost turn to leave. “Hi, Jon,” she greets, immediately kneeling to pet Ghost. “And this is Ghost, I presume?” 

Jon smiles, Ghost’s tail wagging furiously as Missandei scratches behind his ears. “Yes, it is. Good to see you again, Missandei.” 

“Is everything going alright?” Dany asks, and her assistant looks up to her, standing once again. 

“Mmhmm. We haven’t had any issues in a while. And the event’s winding down as well— Podrick just arrived and is getting ready, and the concert should start in two hours’ time, on schedule.” 

“Perfect,” Dany says, nodding satisfactorily. She turns to Jon next, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Jon, I think you and Ghost have done more than your fair share of time at the booth.” He tries not to let on exactly how relieved he is to hear _that_ as the three of them leave, wandering back into the heart of the fair. 

“Is there anything else that’s still going on?” Dany asks Missandei. “Demonstrations, talks, any of that?” Missandei pulls out her phone, scrolling through the calendar. 

“A few more demonstrations, although they end within the hour, as we assume people will be staking out spots by the stage by then. And the last hike leaves in fifteen minutes.” 

“Jon!” he hears, and all three of them turn, coming face to face with his family once again. Gendry has appeared as well, Arya holding his hand in one of hers, the other gripping Nymeria’s leash tightly as she attempts to run up to Ghost. 

“We’re going to get going,” Robb says, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist. “Talisa’s feet are killing her.” 

“Of course,” Jon says, stepping forward to say goodbye. “Thank you both for coming.” 

“Anytime,” Talisa says, pulling him into a hug. “We had a lovely time, really.” She turns to Dany, grinning at her. “It was an amazing event. You did a wonderful job with everything.” 

“Thank you,” Dany returns sincerely, her eyes flitting over to Jon, her expression so soft it makes his heart melt a little. 

“I’ll see you soon, brother,” Robb says, clapping him on the back. Jon nods, bidding them both farewell. 

“I have to head out too, unfortunately,” Sansa says. “I think Lady’s annoyed she hasn’t gotten her dinner yet.” She gives Jon a hug goodbye, saying farewell to Dany, Missandei, and her sister as well, before she follows after Robb and Talisa.

“Are you going too?” Jon asks Arya. She shakes her head, glancing at Gendry.

“We were going to go for the last hike, and then head home,” he says. 

“And I’m still bumming a ride off of you, big brother,” Arya tells him. “Gendry’s heading right to work after.” 

“Davos wasn’t as gracious with my time off as he was with yours,” Gendry jokes. Next to him, Dany starts, as if she’s finally put together who he is. 

“I _knew_ I recognized you,” she says, turning to the man. “You work at the same bar as Jon. You were there that night, when we went out for Grey’s nameday.” 

“Aye, that’s me,” Gendry says, sticking out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Gendry— Jon’s friend, Arya’s boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, formally,” she says with a smile. “I’m Daenerys.” 

“Oh, right,” he says, looking over at Jon with a smirk that has him raising his hackles already. “You were the one that Jon was talkin’ to all night, last weekend.” 

Dany seems unfazed, regardless of the murderous look he is currently throwing towards Gendry. “Yes, that was me,” she says, looking over to Missandei, who rolls her eyes in amusement. “I already said I was sorry for missing most of the party. I was distracted.” 

Arya grins at Jon gleefully, so he opens his mouth, cutting her off before she can say anything about him and Dany. “You two are going on the last hike?” he asks. His sister narrows her eyes at him, like she knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, but Jon can’t find it in himself to care. He and Daenerys _just_ became… sort of friends. He won’t have Arya ruining that because she can’t keep her damn mouth shut. 

“Yes, we are,” Arya says anyways. “It’s an easier trail than I’m used to, but Nymeria could use the exercise, anyways.” 

“You should go to, Jon,” Dany tells him. “You’ve done more than enough socializing for the day.” 

“What do you think, Ghost?” Jon says, patting his dog’s head. “Should we go for a hike?” Ghost’s barks of excitement speak for themselves, Dany laughing. He turns to her, captivated by the light in her eyes, the smile gracing her face, warm as sunlight. 

“Do you want to come with us?” he says, the words tumbling out unbidden, before he can even think. 

She freezes, eyes fixed on his. His heart thunders, waiting for her answer. There’s something in her eyes, almost like… wanting, he thinks. Maybe he’s just imagining it. Wishful thinking, or something like that. 

“Go, Daenerys,” Missandei urges, nudging her friend gently. “There’s nothing left to do. I can handle anything that pops up.” 

“Are you sure?” Dany says, turning to her friend. “I don’t want you to have to—” 

“Stop it,” Missandei says. “Just go. You’ve been working all day. Enjoy the fruit of your labors, for once.” 

She looks back at Jon, and her expression is so hopeful, it makes him lose his breath. Gods, she’s so beautiful, he can’t help but think. 

“Okay,” she says, finally, and a smile stretches across his face, unbidden, growing wider as she returns one of her own. 

“If you’re going, go,” Missandei says. “The hike will be leaving soon.” 

“Alright,” Dany says, a hand reaching down to scratch Ghost’s head, her eyes still locked on Jon’s. In the dying sunlight, he can see all the flecks of gold in her eyes. 

“Lead the way, Daenerys,” Arya says, and she snaps to attention, leading them all to the trailhead. 

Arya is right— the hike that they’re being guided through, along with a few other stragglers, is one that he’s done before, and it’s considerably easier than the hiking he generally engages in. But still, their guide talks them through everything, answering the questions of the beginners up at the front, giving lots of helpful information. Arya and Gendry seem to not really be paying attention, the two of them teasing each other as they bound ahead, Nymeria charging in front of them, but Jon listens to their guide, even if he doesn’t need the information. 

“This is really great,” he says, nodding towards their guide as they make their way into the denser forest of the Kingswood, the noise of the fairgrounds fading from the endless trees. Dany looks to him, an eyebrow quirking at him slightly. 

“You already know all of this,” she says, stepping over a large root across the path. Ghost bounds after her, leaping over the object gracefully. 

“Well, yeah,” he admits, shrugging. “But still. Clearly these people don’t.” He nods up to two girls at the front, engaged in conversation with the guide, both nodding ardently, hanging onto her every word. He looks away, twisting Ghost’s leash around his hand— he’d unclipped it as soon as they’d started, as Ghost hates hiking on a leash, and there aren’t enough people around to warrant concern anymore. “It makes me think of what you said, about the products I think are useless,” he says. “This is easy for me. I’m glad others are getting the things they need so that one day, it will be easy for them.” 

Dany pauses, hands on her hips, looking at him incredulously. “What?” he asks, suddenly self conscious. But then a grin breaks out across her face, and his heart thumps again, caught up in the shine of her eyes. 

“I guess I did have somewhat of an influence on you,” she says, with a satisfied little smirk. He can feel his cheeks flushing, and he tries to shrug it off, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips as well. 

“And here I thought I was the social media influencer.”

Dany laughs at that, beginning to walk again, reaching down to ruffle Ghost’s fur. He’s been stuck to her side since they began the hike— not that Jon really blames him. “Oh no,” she says. “This guy is the influencer.” 

They keep chatting as they hike, and Jon can’t help the content feeling that gathers in his chest as she jokes with him, the trail they’re hiking growing steeper and steeper. It feels like it did that night at the bar, the easiness between them, and he didn’t realize how _scared_ he had been, before this, that that feeling had been some one time thing, only reachable at that bar, when Dany had been too tipsy to be annoyed with him. 

“Gods, I haven’t been hiking in _forever,”_ Dany says, taking Jon’s hand gratefully as he helps guide her up a tricky, steep part of the path. His heart races at the feeling of her palm against his, even briefly, as they continue to climb up to the peak of the hill. 

“Makes sense, seeing as you’re always workin’,” he says with a shrug, and she huffs in mock outrage, punching him softly in the shoulder, though she can’t fight back a smile. 

“I used to go all the time in college,” she says, continuing up the slope. The forest is thinning now, glimpses of the dusky sky coming into view between the trees. 

“Why’d you stop?” he asks. She just looks at him, one eyebrow arching. 

“Why do you think?” 

He shrugs. “You do have weekends still, don’t you?” 

Dany falls silent at that. Jon doesn’t say anything either, watching her as she follows Ghost up the path, not wanting to push her. A moment of silence passes between them, before she opens her mouth again. 

“I don’t know,” she admits finally. “I guess I just put it aside. Prioritized other things.” She looks down, Ghost pausing by her side again, and she sinks her fingers into his fur. It’s a gesture Jon recognizes— it’s what he always does when he’s trying to ground himself, reassure himself that everything is alright. “I was a different person back then.” 

Jon takes a step closer to her, not saying anything. He can recognize the look of someone internally trying to reconcile the person they used to be with the person they are now. It’s a look that graces his face more often than not. And as much as he wants to learn everything he can about Dany, he doesn’t want to push her either. If she wants to share, she will. 

She looks up at him then, her eyes blazing, fierce. He’s enchanted by her, breath stolen by how utterly _strong_ she is, fearless and determined and resilient. He can see past demons dancing in her eyes, and yet he can also see her banish them, like it’s easy as breathing for her. 

He wishes he was half as strong as she is. 

“Come on,” she whispers, offering him her hand again, and he takes it, lets her tug him to the top of the trail, through the treeline and into a clearing on the edge of the cliffside. 

The sky is a beautiful shade of blue, just beginning to fade into the purples of sunset, late sunlight spilling across the forest below them, a sea of emerald green leaves. The cool breeze of the end of summer tickles his cheek, ruffling Ghost’s fur, as he pads over to the rocky edge. 

“Ghost, to me,” he calls sharply, and Ghost huffs as he walks back over, bumping Jon’s hand with his nose. “Good boy,” he murmurs, stroking his head. “Be careful around that edge, would you?” 

Dany doesn’t seem to heed his advice, walking right to the cliff’s edge, surveying the landscape below them. She inhales deeply, eyes shining. 

“This makes me miss hiking,” she says, as Jon steps up next to her, their shoulders almost brushing. _Almost._

He smiles at her softly, captivated by how captivated she is. “It is a pretty view,” he agrees, but his eyes don’t leave her face as he speaks. 

A moment passes, both of them basking in the view, the sounds of birdcalls and muted conversation between their guide and the other hikers behind them. “I take it you’re not afraid of heights, then,” Jon says, and Dany laughs. 

“No, not at all,” she responds. “I love heights. Makes me feel like I’m flying.” She looks over at him, the wind catching her hair, and he has to fight the impulse to tuck a loose strand of it behind her ear, pull her closer, wrap his arms around her and finally discover if her lips are as soft as they look. 

Gods, they look so soft. He wants to kiss her _so_ badly, entranced by how she looks in the late afternoon light, shining like pure gold. 

“What about you?” she asks, one eyebrow raising, and he shakes his head at her.

“Hard to be afraid of heights when you spend five years of your life doin’ patrols on top of a wall seven hundred feet high.” 

She exhales sharply, looking at him in awe. “That must be an amazing view,” she says, and Jon nods slowly. As much as he’d rather not dwell on most of his time in the Night’s Watch, there’s no denying the incredible nature of the moment he’d first seen the world from the top of the Wall, all of Westeros sprawling out below him, for miles and miles and miles. 

“Aye, it is,” he says. He shrugs. “It’s also really fuckin’ cold.” 

She laughs at that, fully, and the sound is intoxicating, making him smile instinctually. Behind him, their guide announces that they’re going to continue back down to the end of the trail, and they turn, facing her. Arya and Gendry stand off to her left, and Jon doesn’t miss the look Arya shoots him— like a cat who just caught a canary. He frowns back at her, hoping Dany doesn’t notice, before they all begin to climb back down the mountain. 

The hike down is somehow more tiring than the hike up, even Jon reasonably out of breath by the time the reach the bottom. Ghost flops to the ground the moment they reach the fairgrounds again, Jon gratefully accepting the water bottle and bowl for the dogs that Arya offers him from her backpack. 

“Thank you so much,” he hears Dany tell their guide. “That was great. And so informative, too. This was exactly the type of experience we were hoping to give people here.” 

“Thank you,” their guide says, smiling warmly. “And thank you as well for organizing all of this. We’ve already seen a spike in donations just today, and we’ve created so much interest in preserving our national parks.” 

“Good,” Dany says, her voice sincere, taking the other woman’s hands in hers. “That’s what all of this is for. I’m glad we were able to spark that interest in people.” She thanks the woman again, before the tour group disperses, leaving just them, Gendry and Arya off to the side with Nymeria. 

“Gods, Ghost, I agree,” Dany says, lowering herself down next to his dog. Jon chuckles as he also takes a seat in the grass, bracing his weight against his arms as he leans back, the soft earth tickling his palms. Ghost yawns, standing up to pad over to Dany, before flopping down into her lap. She laughs, arms immediately circling him, scratching at his ears as his eyes slide closed contently.

“He seems to like you,” Jon says, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. Dany looks at him, eyes lights, and _fuck,_ he just wants to make her look like that for the rest of time. 

“Well, I like him,” she declares, stroking his flank again, Ghost practically purring with contentment. “He’s much less stubborn than his owner.” Jon laughs at that, rolling his eyes, recognizing the teasing tone of her voice, the little lilting smile across her face that lets him know she’s joking. 

A desire to capture this moment suddenly seizes him; generally, Jon doesn’t document every instant of his life in photos, but he just wants to look at Dany like this forever. He never wants to forget the shine of her eyes, the happy flush of her cheeks, the messy cascade of moonbeam waves over her shoulder, tousled from the wind. The rosy color of her lips. The way her smile makes him want nothing more than to shove Ghost off of her lap and lay her down in the grass, pin her body underneath his and find out if she tastes like sunlight as well. 

But he doesn't do that. Instead, he fishes his phone from his pocket, opening up the camera. 

“Do you mind if I take a picture of you two?” he asks. “For his instagram.” Dany smiles again, smoothing out her hair. 

“Of course,” she answers, smiling easily as he snaps a picture. He’ll crop her face out for the post, but the full version, with her beautiful smile and shining eyes— that he’ll keep just for himself. _Like some moonstruck fool,_ his mind chastises briefly, before he shoves the thought aside. 

Gods above, maybe he is a moonstruck fool. But the more time he spends with _this_ Dany, not the businesswoman who hides behind walls and walls of professionalism and indifference— the more time he spends with her, the less he cares what’s become of him. 

“Hey, Jon,” he hears behind him, and he turns, looking up to find Gendry. “I have to leave— my shift starts in half an hour. Are you still good to drive Arya home?” 

“Aye,” he says, standing up to bid his friend farewell. “Thanks for coming, Gendry.” 

“Any time. Try not to miss us too much on your night off, alright?” 

Jon smiles at that, clapping Gendry on the back. “I’ll do my best.” 

“I’ll see you later,” Arya says, coming up to her boyfriend’s side, Nymeria at her heels. Gendry leans down to kiss her briefly, squeezing her hand in farewell.

“Aye, I’ll be by tomorrow morning. Love you,” he tells her, and his sister returns the sentiment, before he turns, walking across the fairgrounds and back to the parking lot. 

“I’m afraid I have to go as well. The concert’s about to begin,” Dany says, looking down helplessly at the massive dog sprawled across her. 

“Ghost, here,” Jon commands, and with a huff, his dog stands, licking Dany once on the cheek in parting before he ambles over to Jon. 

“Are you staying for the show?” she asks, Jon offering his hand to help pull her up. Again, warmth spreads through his body at the feel of her palm against his, dissipating all too quickly once she’s on her feet again, his hand dropped. 

“No, the dogs would hate it,” Arya says. “Too loud. Too many people crowded in together.” 

“It _has_ been a long day for Ghost, too,” Dany says, offering him another pat on the head. He nuzzles into her hand, making her smile again, Jon’s heart thumping at the sight. 

“It’s a hard life, bein’ so loved,” Jon jokes, and Dany laughs. 

“Thank you for coming, Jon,” she says, eyes blazing as they meet his, capturing him completely. He just shrugs, fingers brushing against Ghost’s ears reflexively. 

“Kind of in my contract, wasn’t it?” he says. She bites at her lip again, looking almost hesitant, he thinks. It’s a look he’s seen so few times on her face in the time he’s known her. 

“Still,” she says, eyes caught on his. “Thank you for… this. This has been amazing, today.” 

He’s not sure if she’s talking about the event, or _them,_ but frankly, he doesn’t really want to find out, perfectly content to assume the latter. 

“Of course, Dany,” he says, voice softer. “Thank _you_ for everythin’.” 

She smiles at him, small and secretive, meant just for him, before her phone buzzes. She glances down at it, rolling her eyes. “Alright, I _really_ have to go,” she says apologetically. “Arya, again— it was so nice to meet you,” she says, before her eyes are back on his. “I’ll see you Thursday, Jon?” 

“Not going to push me off to Margaery again?” he teases, and she laughs. 

“No, definitely not.” With one last wave, she turns from them, hurrying back into the crowd, no doubt to make sure the concert goes off without a single hitch. 

As soon as she disappears, he can feel Arya’s gaze on him. 

“Out with it,” he says, leaning over to clip Ghost’s leash back on, waiting for Arya to grill him over Daenerys again, now that they’re alone. She waits, though, until they’re walking, their dogs following alongside on the way back to the car. 

“I can see why you like her,” Arya says, reaching down to scratch Ghost’s head as he ambles between them. Jon’s heart thuds, one hand running along the back of his neck reflexively. He opens his mouth to argue, but Arya just rolls her eyes. “Stop it, Jon, I know you do,” she says. She looks up to her brother, her expression hardened, her gaze honest. 

“I think she’s good for you,” Arya says. “When you look at her, your eyes get all light.” She shrugs, but Jon doesn’t miss the look on her face, full of content. “I haven’t seen you look at someone like that in a long time.” 

Jon doesn’t say anything, just remains quiet for a moment. He supposes it’s somewhat worthless denying it any longer. He hasn’t felt the way Dany makes him feel since— well. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time. 

“Does it matter, though?” Jon asks, because really, that’s the question. It doesn't truly matter if he likes Daenerys, if she’s good for him. Because even if she _did_ feel the same, by some miracle, he’s still falling apart far too much to ever let anyone in like that. 

“What do you mean?” Arya asks, her eyes narrowing at him. Jon shrugs, not particularly sure how to articulate it. 

“I don’t know, Arya,” he says with a sigh. “Even if she felt the same, what am I supposed to do? I can’t…” He turns to look at his sister. “You know I can’t just let someone into my life right now. Most of the time I still feel like I’m falling to pieces.” He thinks back to just _weeks_ ago on Robb’s couch, the way he’d broken down over nothing, or the crawling feeling under his skin at the crowds of people pressing in earlier today. He has too much trauma still. And he can’t force someone else to deal with that, let alone _her._

“I can’t drag someone else into that,” he tells Arya. “They wouldn’t deserve it, havin’ to deal with me. I’m still a fuckin’ mess.” 

Arya pauses, considering. “Maybe,” she says with a shrug, far too casual for what they’re discussing. “But you’re much less of a mess than you were before, Jon.” She looks up at him, eyes hard, serious. “Maybe having someone else like that would help you get yourself back together even more.” 

He remains silent, pondering it for a moment. “I mean, look at what having Ghost in your life did,” Arya says, and Jon’s eyes drift down to his dog. She’s right, he’ll give her that— the months in between him being released from the hospital and adopting Ghost are a dark haze, alcohol and depression blurring all the days together until they’re one indiscernible stretch of bleakness. 

“This is different, though,” Jon says. “A person isn’t a dog. Ghost needed me to take care of him; he depended on me. He gave me a reason to get up every day.” _And he loved me, even though I was a fucking mess,_ he thinks. _Even when I could barely recognize myself, he still was happy to see me every morning._  

“I know that,” Arya says, as they reach the car, yanking the back door open so the dogs can pile in. “I’m not saying you need to take care of Daenerys. Gods know she probably doesn’t need that.” Jon smiles, agreeing completely. Dany certainly isn’t some simpering maiden who needs him to protect her. She’s a dragon through and through, capable of fighting her own battles and coming away victorious. 

“I’m just saying, maybe a relationship like that would give you a purpose again,” Arya explains. “A different one, sure, but still a purpose.” 

He considers it as they climb into the car, Jon pulling the driver’s side door closed behind him. As much as he knows it’s probably a fantasy, he can’t help but think of having Dany in his life that way— getting to see those small, warm smiles every day, her eyes shining just for him, beautiful laughter falling from her lips. He looks down at his hands on the steering wheel, remembering how it felt to have her fingers tangled with his. The thought of getting to hold her hand whenever he wants, discovering what the _rest_ of her skin feels like… that thought alone is enough to make him grin like an idiot.

“Fucking hell, you’re _such_ a lovesick fool,” Arya huffs, rolling her eyes at him. But there’s that teasing edge to her voice that most wouldn't pick up on. Jon does, though. He knows his sister well enough to know she’s happy for him, even if she’s pretending otherwise. 

“And you’re a fucking pain in my arse, badgering me about this, tellin’ your _boyfriend_ all about Dany as well,” he teases back. Arya full out laughs at that, shoving his shoulder as he puts the car in reverse. 

“Love you too, dearest brother.” 

He posts the picture of Dany with Ghost once he drops Arya off and is back in his own apartment, adding a picture from the hike as well. And when his phone lights up with the notification that _daenerys.stormborn liked your photo,_ he doesn’t try to fight back the smile that follows.

***

 

 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48280760316/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone seemed concerned about Margaery going after Jon, so... I hope this development put you all at ease 😂
> 
> Also that video of Jon and Ghost is based off of [this!](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByIPAWaAw4L/?igshid=2fwh1s2gw2sa)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he’s not as hopeless as he thought. Maybe she just needs time and space to figure it out. And he can give her that— he understands the importance of that all too well. He may still be a mess, but when he’s with her, when he sees her smile, that’s the only time Jon truly feels hope take root in his chest. 
> 
> And if she has demons of her own— maybe they can fight them off together, for the both of them.
> 
> _You sound like a daft, lovesick fool, _his brain snaps at him, and he groans, leaning forward on his forearms. He does, truly. But there’s just something about Dany that is different. Her smile, her laugh. The fire that fills her, makes her fierce and powerful and strong. The way she looks at him sometimes, her eyes a kaleidoscope of blues and golds, like the sunrise over the mountains.__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _There’s something about her that makes him think that fighting through all his past ghosts to make it to the end might actually be worth it, if he gets to be with her after it’s all over._  
>  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI EVERYONE! See I SAID this update wouldn't take as long didn't I (even though it's a good 5k longer?) Schoolwork? I do not know her. 
> 
> I feel like I have to start this by saying how incredibly grateful I am for every single one of you that read this story. All the comments you leave and kudos you give and asks you send me on tumblr inspire me and make me unbelievably happy. This fic is my lil baby, and I am just... so humbled that you love it so much. I love sharing this world with you guys. I am so glad you love reading it as well. 
> 
> This chapter is one of my very faves, and I have to give a million billion thanks for it to my fantastic betas, Fer and Giulia. You guys give me the best feedback and leave the funniest comments on my google doc, and I firmly believe that this story would be nowhere near as good as it is without you two and your incredible feedback. I'm not sure how I ever got so lucky to have the two of y'all in my life, but GOD am I grateful ❤️❤️ Huge shoutout to Sarah, too, who was my guinea pig and read through this ahead of time and live messaged me her reactions. Thank you for letting me ramble about this world to you literally constantly, girl. 
> 
> I want to warn y'all, I graduate college in like a month and I STILL have to find a big girl job, so the next update might come a little slower. It's gonna be a big chapter, too (you'll see.) But hopefully it will be worth the wait! Thank you guys for being patient with me :) 
> 
> ALRIGHT that is enough from me. ENJOY, and then leave me a comment or send me an ask on tumblr (stilesssolo) screaming about this (or at me. Again. You'll see.)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48369725457/in/dateposted-public/)

Dany hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the launch event for days. 

It’s inconvenient beyond _reason—_ she has a million other things to worry about, mainly that the winter line final samples are finally in and ready for photography. But any time she closes her eyes, she’s back at the cliff’s edge in the Kingswood, the late summer breeze washing over her, Jon looking at her with eyes full of light. 

She can’t remember the last time she had felt so at _peace._

“Daenerys,” Missandei says, and she snaps back to attention. 

“Hm?” she says, trying to focus. Missandei’s brow furrows, eyes full of concern. 

“Are you alright?” she asks. “You’ve been acting strange all week.” 

“I’m fine,” Dany insists, trying not to think of the way her heart had fluttered when Jon had smiled at her on top of that mountain. The warmth that had flowed through her when his dog had collapsed in her lap. The feeling of his palm against hers, large and warm and grounding, as his fingers had twined with hers. The thrill at seeing him post a picture of _her_ on his account, like she was a part of this somehow. 

For an entire afternoon, Dany had felt like she truly _belonged_ somewhere other than work. And now she can’t get the thought out of her mind. 

“Sorry,” she says, noticing that Missandei is staring at her again. “I’m just a little stretched thin with the winter line developments. What were you saying?” 

“Now that final samples are in, photography wants them for the next few weeks so they can get studio shots. I thought that should be fine— we have multiple sets, so the other ones can go up North for the photoshoot in two weeks.” 

“Yes, that sounds fine,” Dany confirms. “So the photoshoot is all set, then? Have we gotten confirmations back from all the winter brand ambassadors?” 

“Almost,” Missandei says, looking at her computer. “Jon still hasn’t confirmed.” 

Dany _hates_ the way her heart lurches just at his name. She needs to get a grip on herself, and _fast._

“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll discuss it with him during our meeting tomorrow. Where is the shoot again?” 

“They want to do it in the mountains a little north of the Wolfswood. It’s a few hours’ drive from Winterfell,” Missandei says. “Apparently now it’s cold enough there for snow. They have quite a lot already.” 

“Really?” Dany makes a face. “It’s only September.” 

“It is the North,” Missandei says with a shrug. Dany nods, considering how Jon had spoke of his home; the first thing he had told her was how _bloody cold_ it always is. He floods her mind again— she can see him leaning up against the bartop, eyes light and teasing, hear the way those words had sounded in his northern burr.

“I’m assuming you won’t be able to make it there for the shoot,” Missandei says. “Olenna figured, but she wanted to check.” 

Dany nods in confirmation. She has far too much to get done to work from Winterfell for a week, even though the thought of seeing the North for the first time _with_ Jon makes her stomach swoop a little. 

“I’ll see if anyone else on the team would be willing to go. Maybe Rakharo.” She looks up from her computer, meeting Missandei’s eyes again. “Anything else?” 

“I booked you a hair and makeup appointment for the Brand Ambassador’s Gala in a month,” Missandei says. Dany narrows her eyes at her friend. 

“That’s not part of your job description,” she says, pouting. “You don’t have to make personal appointments for me.” 

“I know I don't,” Missandei says with a smirk. “But I also know that if I don’t do it, you will forget, and I am _not_ doing your hair for the gala again when all the salons are booked up the week of.” 

Dany laughs, remembering her desperate call to Missandei last year, pleading her friend to come braid her hair for the event. “Alright, that’s fair,” she says. “Did you book one for yourself too, at least?” 

Missandei smiles. “Of course. We’re getting facials beforehand as well. We’ll have a spa day before you have to go schmooze with all our board members for the night.”

“Missandei, you are a godsend,” Dany says, tipping her head back in relief. She truly doesn’t deserve anyone as wonderful as her friend. “I’m going to need a spa day to deal with _those_ people for an entire night.” 

“A spa day, and alcohol.” Missandei smirks, and Dany can’t help but laugh as well. 

“Thank the gods Olenna always springs for the open bar.” 

***

“What do you think of this?”

Dany glances up from her computer, eyes falling to Jon, across her desk. She’d finished telling him all about the upcoming things on the schedule for him a bit ago, so now he’s queueing posts, writing up captions for the items Margaery had wanted him to talk about for the remainder of their meeting. 

He looks up to meet her eyes, the warm brown of his irises swallowing her whole, and she has to look away, snap herself out of the trance before she gets stuck. He reaches across the desk, phone outstretched so that she can read the caption. 

“That looks good,” she says after a moment, and he retracts his hand, staring down at his phone again. “Make sure you tag us as a business partner, though.” Jon’s brow furrows in confusion at her words, his fingers hovering over the screen.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s— I tap the ‘tag people’ button, right?” 

Dany sighs, shaking her head. “Normally, yes, but not to tag a sponsor,” she explains. “It’s under advanced settings.” 

Jon blinks, staring at the phone in his hand. “So… do I have to leave the post? To get to settings?” 

Dany shakes her head again, trying not to laugh at his utter cluelessness. It would be almost endearing, she thinks, his complete inability to use social media— only if she wasn’t the one who had to teach him to do everything. 

“No, it’s within the post,” she says, without looking away from her computer. “Come here, I’ll show you.” 

She registers Jon moving in the corner of her eye, hears the drag of his chair against the carpet, but she doesn’t truly realize how close he is until he is hovering above her, his scent and his body heat invading her space, flooding her senses. 

“Where is it?” he asks, offering her his phone, his body curling around hers, an arm reaching down to present her with the device. She inhales sharply, trying to regain control of her thoughts, keep them from wandering somewhere they shouldn’t, dark and lusty. 

This is _Jon._ She’s been through this with herself; she’s not allowed to think about him that way. He is a business partner, a _colleague_ practically, and that is it. 

Except even reprimanding herself mentally doesn’t calm down her heart rate, or keep her eyes from tracing the lines of his strong hands, remembering what his fingers had felt like tangled with hers. Wondering what it would feel like to have them press up against something that _isn’t_ her palm. 

“Right here,” she breathes, scrolling to the bottom of the post with trembling fingers, tapping on advanced settings. “See, it says ‘tag business partner’ under ‘branded content.’” 

“And then I just type in Tyrell?” 

“Mmhmm,” she hums, withdrawing her hand so that Jon can take his phone back, pull away from her and finish posting. But he doesn’t— instead, he lingers in her space, the air between them crackling with electricity, sending shivers of want through Dany’s body. _Stop it,_ she chides herself, but she can’t help it. Her eyes trace from his hand in front of her up the muscles of his arm, along the curve of his neck, turning to meet his eyes. Their faces are so close, Jon’s breath washing over her, and she could reach up and stroke his cheek, run her fingers along his jawline if she wanted. Lust hits her, hot and heavy, as she is trapped in his lovely eyes, the warm brown color darkening as she draws infinitesimally closer. 

“Dany,” Jon says, and she knows she is supposed to be showing him how to do something, knows she _isn’t_ supposed to want this, but the deep tremor of his voice, the roughness that fills it, lets her know he feels the same thing she does. 

“Jon,” she returns, her nose almost brushing his as she turns fully in her chair, and then all semblance of _anything_ professional is gone, scattered to the wind without a care. 

Dany isn’t sure who closes the gap, but suddenly it is gone, and Jon’s lips upon hers are intoxicating. The dull _thunk_ of his phone hitting her desk registers dimly in her mind before his hands are upon her as well, his touch sure and confident as his arms wrap around her, pulling her out of the chair and flush up against him. Dany sighs as his tongue parts her lips, the taste of him addictive, his mouth warm and wanting against her own. 

Her own hands run up his chest, the hardened muscles under his t-shirt rippling at her touch, before her fingers sink into his hair, marveling at how soft the raven locks are. He groans when she tugs at the tie keeping his hair bound back, his entire body curling around her, pulling her impossibly closer. Jon’s mouth moves to her neck, pressing kisses into the sensitive skin, his beard scraping against her. 

There is a weak, dim part of her mind that wants to protest this, complain that it is _completely_ unprofessional and putting their working relationship in jeopardy, but then his hands trace down her side, like he’s memorizing the feeling of her, and her heart swoops in her chest so much that she doesn’t care anymore. She’s just caught up in _Jon,_ the heat of his touch, the warmth of his lips against her skin, basking in him as he worships her body like it’s the thing he was put on this planet to do. 

Dany’s leg hitches up involuntarily, needing to be closer to him, and Jon responds immediately, as if their minds are connected somehow. His large palm slides under her thigh, pulling her off the floor so that she can wrap her legs around his waist, heat searing from his hands as he grabs her arse to hold her to him. All semblances of professionalism are lost to the feeling of Jon pressed against her, his tongue in her mouth and her fingers tangled in his hair. She knows that at any minute Missandei or Olenna or anyone else she works with could walk into her office, but she finds she just _does not care,_ moaning wantonly as she arches in Jon’s arms, as strong as a steel vice, her hips grinding against his. His warmth is intoxicating, addictive, enveloping her like the sunlight on the side of that mountain in the Kingswood did. 

“Fuck, Dany,” he groans into her mouth, and her eyes open blearily to look at his face, his eyes as dark as the midnight sky, overflowing with lust. 

Fingers grabbing possessively at the flesh of her arse, Jon releases her with one arm, lips glued to hers once again as he shoves the things on her desk aside, pens and notepads scattering on the carpeted floor. He lowers her to the glass surface, hands tangling in her hair the second she’s seated, moving her head so he can kiss her deeper, tongue slick against her own. Gods, he can do _amazing_ things with that mouth, she thinks, his teeth pulling at her bottom lip in a way that makes her shiver. If she were still standing, she knows her knees would have given out under her. 

Dany releases his silky curls, her hands moving to the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath and tracing up the smooth planes of muscle, her nails scraping his hot skin. He is like fire, flames licking right under the surface, and she wants nothing more than to succumb to his heat, burn up in the flames. He shudders against her, letting out a guttural growl before his hands are tearing at the front of her blouse, fumbling to undo her buttons. She slips her hands from under his shirt, helping him with the slippery fabric, before she is left bare before him, just in her lacy bra and rucked up skirt, legs still wrapped around his waist. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, taking her in hungrily, like there is nothing else in the world that he can see, dark eyes fixed just on her. Her heart flutters at that, briefly displacing the lust filling her mind, fixed on the reverent look upon his face. 

She’s not sure what to do with that, so instead she pulls him back to her, and he follows her lead immediately, melting into her touch. Her hands find the hem of his shirt again, and this time he helps her tug it off, his bare skin hot as it presses against hers. 

“Gods, Jon,” she moans as his mouth drops lower, lower, tracing the curve of her neck until he’s tugging at the lace of her bra with his teeth, his hand moving the strap down her shoulder, the flimsy piece of clothing going slack as he flicks the clasp open. His hand comes up to palm her other breast, and she shivers at the feeling of it, the contrast between the rough pads of his fingers and the velvety heat of his lips, his tongue, against sensitive flesh. She grinds her hips against his again, nails scraping down his bare chest until they catch in the waistband of his jeans, fingers dancing lower. She can feel him growing hard, straining against his jeans, hips bucking against her as she palms his length through his pants, and her fingers go to his zipper, determined to rid him of these troublesome layers. 

“Wait,” he pants, breath harsh against her breast, and she pauses, looking at him. He leans back up, pressing his mouth against hers again, slower this time, not as hungry. She melts into him, still confused about his hesitance, before he sinks to his knees, hands snaking around her to grab her arse, pull her closer to the edge of the desk. Her mouth falls open as he presses a hot kiss to the inside of her thigh, guiding her legs over his shoulder, her heels digging into the muscles in his back as his hands roam further. Dany loses all cognitive thought as he eases her legs open wider, fingers skating under her bunched up skirt, plucking at the lacy edge of her panties before he tugs them down, tossing them on the floor behind him. His fingers brush against her folds, slick and wet already for him, and she can’t help the whine that she lets out, the anticipation almost destroying her. 

His nose nudges against her center before he presses one last kiss to the inside of her thigh, his beard scraping against the creamy skin. “So beautiful, Dany,” he says, and she shudders at the rough, wanton sound of his voice as he leans into her, the way her name sounds in that delicious Northern accent, lower and throatier than she has ever heard it, so clouded with desire. 

 _“Dany,”_ she hears again, but it’s _not_ Jon’s voice, and she jumps a foot in the air, horrified at being discovered like _this._

But Jon isn’t there anymore. She’s alone in her office chair, heart _pounding,_ Missandei standing in her doorway and looking at her strangely. 

“You were asleep,” Missandei tells her, one hand on her hip. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” Dany says, sitting up, hands smoothing down her blouse, still buttoned and tucked into her skirt. “Sorry. I just… dozed off, I guess.” She can still feel the heat of arousal flooding her system, curling in her belly like flames, still demanding to know what it feels like to have Jon’s mouth upon her. 

 _Stop it,_ she scolds. _You are not allowed to think about Jon that way._

“You need to get more sleep at night,” Missandei says, arching a disapproving eyebrow at her. Dany nods, hoping that her friend can’t see how flushed her cheeks are. 

“Jon should be here in about twenty minutes,” Missandei reminds her, and her heart crashes to a stop. _Gods fucking dammit._ She’s not going to be able to look him in the eye for the entire meeting, wondering instead if his lips are as plush as she had dreamed them, if his touch would be as sure and heated as it was in her head. 

“Do you want me to go get him when he arrives?” Missandei asks, and Dany manages a strained smile. 

“Thank you, Dei. That would be great.” 

Missandei nods stiffly, her brow furrowing again. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asks. “You’re acting strange.” 

“I’m fine,” Dany says, standing. “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee, before this meeting starts. You’ll get Jon?”

Missandei just nods, but her gaze is still concerned as she leaves Dany’s office. 

Dany walks to the kitchenette in a haze, brewing herself a cup of coffee on autopilot. _Pull yourself together,_ she reprimands, squeezing her eyes shut. She has a _job_ to do, for the sake of the gods. She cannot let a _dream_ that she has _no_ control over whatsoever incapacitate her like this.

But still. She can’t forget about the feel of Jon’s mouth against hers, the addictive heat of his touch, even if it had just been her imagination. Heat still curls in her belly, and she can _feel_ the ghost of his kisses along the inside of her thigh, the warmth of his breath against her folds. She squeezes her legs together, trying to regain control of her body, push the want still coursing through her away. 

 _It was just a dream,_ she tells herself. _It didn’t mean anything. Just some weird spark of your mind. Now get it together and go do your job._

She splashes cold water on her face in the bathroom, trying to tame the flush in her cheeks. _You can do this,_ she tells herself, forcing the professional mask back on, clutching her coffee too tightly as she walks back to her office. 

Her heart stutters when she realizes Jon is already in there, his back to her as he sits opposite her desk. Any semblance of control she had over herself snaps, and all she can think about is tugging the elastic band out of his hair, seeing if his curls are as silky as her mind imagined them to be. 

“Hi, Dany,” he says, turning in his chair as she swings the door open, and gods above, he is _not_ going to make this easy for her. 

“Hi,” she returns tightly, sitting in her own seat, smoothing out her skirt. She avoids meeting his gaze, scared that if she looks at him, she’ll get pulled into his eyes and do something foolish. Like actually kiss him. 

Instead she opens up her calendar and starts talking, running through the events marked down for the next few weeks with him. “Did Margaery mention the brand ambassador photoshoot during your last meeting?” she asks, and he nods slowly. 

“Aye, I think she mentioned it,” he says. She lets herself glance at him, _ever_ so briefly, but even in the short amount of time, she can see the hesitation, almost _confusion_ in his eyes. _Shit._ She had hoped he wouldn’t notice her apprehension. His face is still stoic, unrevealing, but she can see the truth of him in those lovely eyes. 

All she can think about is those same eyes in her dream, inches from her own, before she’d finally leaned in and kissed him. 

She looks away again sharply, unwilling to let those thoughts run rampant. “It’s scheduled for the week after next. In the mountains east of the Wolfswood. That’s close to Winterfell, isn’t it?” she asks. Jon nods, his eyes regaining a little of that light. 

“Only a couple hours from there,” he states. “I’ll have to check with my boss, but that should be alright. I generally go home for a little while around this time of the year anyways.” 

“Perfect,” she says, nodding, content to move on. “I’ll send you all the information on it. Can you take Ghost on planes? If he needs special accommodations, we can book another ticket for him.” 

“No, he’s never flown,” Jon says. “We’ll drive, probably. If I’m goin’ up to Winterfell, I’m sure Arya, and maybe Sansa, will want to come as well.”

“We can comp you for the miles,” Dany tells him. “I can send you that form as well.” She dares a look back at him again, and she can’t help it, the way her eyes get caught on his. 

“I take it you aren’t going to be there,” he says, and she can hear the certainty in his voice, like he already knows the answer to his question. 

“No, I’m not,” she says softly. “I can’t leave the office that long.” 

She can’t pull herself out of his eyes, trapped in those deep brown irises. But suddenly, the lust coursing through her system from earlier, the jumpiness that’s been flooding her body since this meeting began disappears, and she finds herself anchored through Jon’s gaze. She’s not caught up in her dream anymore— instead, she’s on the side of a cliff, watching as he offers her one of those rare half-smiles of his, warmth flooding his features as he jokes with her. 

Her heart thumps traitorously, and suddenly there’s nowhere she’d rather go than up north with this endlessly intriguing man. 

But that thump of her heart, that tangled knot of emotions in her chest that she can’t quite make sense of— it frightens her more than she’d like to admit. As does the way her eyes flit to Jon’s lips, wondering if they’d be as soft in real life as they were in her dream. 

So she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns back to her computer screen, continuing on through the list of events. 

Jon nods along while she talks through everything, clinically and unemotionally. She doesn’t let herself look at him— she knows she won’t be able to stand the flash of pain in his eyes at the way she’s slipped back into that cold businesswoman persona with him. But the alternative— letting him in even further, letting _all_ her walls down around him— is even scarier, so she continues on. 

He barely reacts until she mentions the gala at the end of next month. She can’t help looking at him again as he blinks at her owlishly, his brows furrowing just a bit. 

“A gala?” he asks, running his fingers along the back of his neck. She thinks of how that had felt to do herself in her dream— the silky feel of his curls brushing against her fingertips, the way his muscles had rippled under her touch. She shakes her head slightly, pushing the thoughts away. 

“Yes,” she says. “We have one every year. It’s partly a celebration for the launch of the new line, but it’s also for the past year’s brand ambassadors. It’ll be at the Red Keep this year.” 

“When you say _gala,_ you mean—” Jon says, confusion still painted across his lovely features, his full lips pulled into a frown. 

“I mean it’s a black tie event,” she says, smiling a little bit at how clueless he seems, trying _very_ hard not to look at his lips. “Very formal. You’ll need a tuxedo.” 

“Oh,” he says, nodding. “And… I have to be there?” 

She rolls her eyes at him, though a smile still plays at her lips, letting him know she doesn’t mean it to be cruel. “You don’t _have_ to be there,” she says. “But we like for all of our ambassadors to be present.” 

“I just wasn’t sure,” he says, brow furrowing. “I mean, Ghost is the sponsor, not me.” 

Her eyes soften at that, once again taken aback by him. She’s never met another person anything like Jon Snow. 

“You’re invited, Jon, don’t worry,” she says. “Everyone in the company always goes. It’s a very fun evening.” She smiles again. “And Olenna _always_ goes for the open bar.” 

He just nods at that, but he smiles a little bit back at her, his eyes having regained some of their previous light. 

The rest of the meeting goes by with little consequence— once she’s done running Jon through all the upcoming schedule commitments he has, they talk about his planned hiking trips, the products Margaery wants him to speak about, and the winter line products he’ll be receiving in a month or two’s time. Dany tries to relax a little, but she still can’t meet his eyes for very long, frightened by the quickening of her heart every time his gaze fixes on hers. He bids her farewell an hour later, and she tries _desperately_ not to stare at his arse as he leaves her office. 

She fails miserably. Even through his jeans, his arse looks like it was sculpted by the gods. 

Dany groans, dropping her head onto the cool glass of her desk. She needs to get these feelings in check, and _fast,_ or the rest of this sponsorship is going to be nothing short of torturous. 

***

Jon tries not to dwell as he walks out of Daenerys’s office, heading down maze of hallways he now has memorized. 

It’s hard not to, though. Perhaps he was wrong— perhaps those times at the bar, in the hallway, on the hike last week were random, chance events. Perhaps that easy… _whatever it is_ that was between them was some fluke. There’s no denying the apprehension that had practically been radiating off of her for their entire meeting, the way she had avoided his eyes, that cool, hardened businesswoman persona firmly back in place. 

There were moments, though, when Jon thought he caught another glimpse of the woman he knows is hidden away underneath. He hopes that woman isn’t gone for good, destined to just live on in his memories for the rest of time. 

It’s just his luck, it seems. As soon as he finally admits to himself how much he likes Dany, how much he cares for the woman he’s gotten to know beneath the surface, she retreats back into her shell, hiding behind walls he thought she had begun to take down. 

“Jon!” he hears, pulled from his musings at the sound of Margaery’s voice behind him. 

“You heading out?” she asks, and he nods, Margaery smiling brightly in response. “I have a meeting downstairs. I’ll walk with you.” 

She calls an elevator for the both of them, Jon shoving his hands in his pockets. Margaery is lovely, but she sets him a little on edge sometimes— especially after last week, with her knowing looks anytime he’d mentioned Daenerys. He gets the sense that Margaery can see right through him. 

“I never saw you at the end of the event last weekend,” he finally says, the silence stifling. “It really was amazing.” 

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, smiling at him. “It went really well, didn’t it? And the Kingswood staff said they’ve received quite the influx of donations.” 

“Good,” Jon says with a nod, as the elevator arrives and they both step in. “That’s one of our favorite hiking spots. Ghost and I go for day trips there all the time.” 

She grins at that. “He is an absolute sweetheart,” Margaery says. “It was so nice to finally meet him. And people all day kept talking about him to me.” She smirks in amusement, making Jon smile too. “He seemed to amass quite the fanclub.” 

Jon chuckles. “He certainly doesn’t mind the attention. Or the treats.” 

They step out of the elevator, Margaery sneaking a glance at him. “It was nice to meet your family as well. So kind of them to all come out and support you.” 

Jon shrugs. “Aye, they’re alright.” She laughs, though, catching his joke. 

“Your sister,” Margaery says, almost apprehensively, and Jon can’t help but smirk. Robb and Arya are going to _die_ when he tells them this later. “Sansa, right? She seems lovely. What does she do?” 

“She’s finishing up law school,” Jon tells her. “She’s got a semester left, I think.” 

“So she’s the lawyer,” Margaery muses. Jon just nods. 

“In training, I suppose. Though not for long. She’ll pass her exams soon, I’m sure.” He huffs in amusement. “She’s a bloody genius, unlike me.” 

Margaery makes a face at him. “Don’t be so unkind to yourself. You _do_ have quite the following on Instagram.” 

Jon shrugs. “And yet I still can’t use my account.” 

“That’s not what I hear,” she says, arching an eyebrow at him. “Daenerys says you know what you’re doing now.” She laughs, throwing him a secretive look. “She looked positively _heartbroken_ when I stole you from your meeting last week, you know. Even if she tried to hide it.” 

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, scratching at his neck awkwardly as his cheeks heat, letting the click of Margaery’s heels against the tile fill the silence. 

“I’ve known Daenerys for a while,” Margaery says, quietly, and Jon’s head turns towards her again, unbidden. “She’s not always had the easiest of times. Especially with men.” Margaery huffs. “I just…” she shrugs. “I see something in her eyes, when she looks at you. Especially lately. Like on Saturday.” Jon’s heart is pounding, but he remains silent, letting her finish. He’s never seen Margaery so cautious before, like she’s really considering how to string her words together. 

“Be patient with her,” she says finally. “I can see the way _you_ look at her. But she’s a lot more guarded than she lets on.” 

His heart thunders, met with the reality that he may not be alone in these feelings he has. But he never would have even _thought_ that Dany had baggage to deal with as well. Well— maybe that’s not true. There have been a few moments, fleeting as they are, that he’s caught a glimpse of past ghosts dancing in her eyes. But still. She seems so strong, so unbreakable, every time he finds out more about her. 

Maybe that’s why she had been so indifferent with him today. Maybe she’s started to realize what she feels as well, and something in her past has her retreating back, to protect herself. That he can more than understand. He’s spent the past three years of his life doing much of the same. 

“Thank you, Margaery,” he says, voice a little strained, and she just nods, her eyes blazing as they meet his. It’s the most honest look she’s ever given him, he thinks. 

“Of course,” she says with a smile, stopping as they come to the lobby. “I’ll see you soon, Jon.” 

He nods at her, leaving the building with a new spark of hope taking root in his chest. 

***

The apartment is blissfully silent when Jon returns home, all of his flatmates out at work, Ghost sprawled out across the couch, just waking up from a nap. “Hi, boy,” Jon murmurs, sitting down next to his dog as Ghost pushes his head into his lap for pets, his tail thumping against the couch cushions. Jon smiles, burying his fingers in Ghost’s soft fur, and he can’t help the chuckle that escapes him when his dog hums in content. 

Sometimes he really wishes his life was as simple as his dog’s. 

He goes to the kitchen to make himself lunch, Ghost following behind him diligently. He gives him a pat on the head as he puts together his sandwich, throwing an extra slice of lunch meat on the plate for his dog. They eat in the comfortable silence of the living room, Ghost happily snapping up the pieces of roast turkey Jon offers him. Jon laughs at the sad eyes Ghost directs him once his snack is gone, scratching his ears affectionately. 

“Sorry, lad,” Jon says, Ghost whining pitifully. “I don’t want to spoil your dinner for you.” 

As if that’s some sort of possibility. Ghost is practically a bottomless pit when it comes to food. 

Jon’s about to break down and go back to the kitchen for another slice of turkey when his phone rings, Sansa’s picture flashing across his screen. He picks it up, shoving Ghost back from his half-finished sandwich as he attempts to grab it while Jon is distracted. 

“Get _down,_ you beast,” he mutters, Ghost huffing and laying down on the couch, looking much too defeated for simply being denied half a poorly made sandwich. “Sorry, Sansa,” he says, hearing his sister laughing on the other end of the line. “What is it? Is everything alright?” 

“Of course,” she says, but Jon knows her well, and he can sense a hint of apprehension in her words, as much as she may be trying to hide it. “What are you doing right now?” 

“I just got back from my meeting with Daenerys,” he says. “Why?” 

“I’m in your area of the city, and I have Lady with me,” she says. “Do you want to take her and Ghost for a walk? I thought it might be nice to take them through the big park by your house. The one with the trail by the pond? 

“Sure,” he says. “That sounds nice. And maybe it’ll distract Ghost from the fact that I won’t let him have the rest of my sandwich.” Sansa laughs again. 

“Great. I’ll be over your flat in ten minutes.” 

“Alright. Park on the street, if you don’t mind. I’m not sure when everyone’s home from work.” 

He goes and changes into athletic shorts and a t-shirt, putting on sneakers as well before grabbing Ghost’s leash. As expected, his dog has mostly forgotten about being denied the rest of Jon’s lunch by the time Sansa is ringing the bell. 

“Hi,” he greets her, raising his voice to be heard over the dogs’ barking. “You ready to go?” 

They walk to the park nearby, choosing the long path to take— it cuts through the woods and around the duck pond, and is generally much less busy than the other trails. They chat idly as Ghost and Lady meander along ahead of them; Sansa just finished up the end of her summer courses, so she can graduate ahead of time at the end of the next semester, and she tells him all about it. As nice as it is to catch up with his eldest sister, Jon can tell there’s something else on her mind, something she wanted to take about when she called him and asked him to come out with her. 

“How did your meeting with Daenerys go?” she asks, and he can hear that apprehension in her voice again, the slight hesitation at the mention of the other woman. _So that’s it,_ he thinks, the skeptical look Sansa had given Dany at the event over the weekend coming back to him as well.

“It went alright,” he says. “I guess they’re doin’ a photoshoot for the winter items in a couple weeks in the Wolfwood. They’re sendin’ me and Ghost up to Winterfell for a week.” 

Sansa’s eyebrows raise. “Really?” 

He just nods. “If you and Arya want to come as well, before your classes and her work starts up, you’re more than welcome to. I have room in my car for the dogs, too, if you’d rather fly.” 

She hums in contemplation. “It _would_ be nice to see home again, before the fall semester begins.” 

They fall silent again, and Jon can sense she’s trying to form the words to say something, but suddenly he can’t take the silence anymore. “What did you think of her?” he asks, protectiveness flaring when Sansa turns to look at him sharply. He loves his sister dearly, but she can be opinionated, and that spark of apprehension in her eye at the mention of Dany has him on edge. 

“Of who?” she asks, feigning innocence. Jon just rolls his eyes petulantly. 

“Come off it, Sansa. You know who I’m talkin’ about.” 

She bites her lip, drawing it into a thin line, before she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “She seemed very nice,” Sansa says, but he can tell that’s not all she has to say. 

“And?” he prompts. “I saw the way you were lookin’ at her on Saturday.” She sighs. 

“I… I just want you to be careful, Jon,” she says, cautiously, and he can feel his temper flare. He tries to calm down, take deep breaths— he knows that any concerns Sansa has are probably with his wellbeing in mind, but now that he’s _finally_ accepted how much he likes Dany— 

“Calm down,” Sansa says immediately, taking his hand in hers, so that he stops squeezing it into an angry fist reflexively. “I don’t mean it like that. Just… listen to what I have to say, please.” Jon exhales, willing himself to calm down, to truly hear Sansa out. 

“She really does seem nice,” Sansa says. “I liked her. She was friendly, and gracious, and she didn’t seem all high-and-mighty, for some corporate head. And she makes you smile,” she says, looking over at Jon. “I can’t remember the last time you’ve smiled so much in one conversation that wasn’t with us.” 

“Everyone keeps sayin’ that,” Jon grumbles. Sansa smirks. 

“Well, you are typically quite broody.” 

“Alright,” Jon huffs, shooting Sansa a look of mock annoyance, and she laughs. “Get to your point.” 

“I’m _glad_ she makes you look happy,” Sansa says. “I want you to be happy, Jon. But she…” she hesitates, and Jon restrains himself this time, letting his sister finish her sentence. 

“You said she’s always working. That she cares so much for her job that she never leaves it. And I just worry—” she pauses again, and Jon can’t fight back the bitter anger from spilling out this time. Because he knows it’s the truth, and it hurts to think about.

“What? That she doesn't have time in her life to deal with me and all of my shitty baggage?” he says, looking down at his feet. “That she won’t want to find the time to sort through my fucked up past?” He laughs darkly, looking back up to his sister. “You don’t have to tell me that, Sansa. I already know.” 

“Jon,” Sansa says, crossing her arms at him, her glare piercing enough to make him fall silent. “That is _not_ what I was going to say, and you know it.” He sighs, because he does. That kind of deprecating train of thought only comes from his own mind. 

“I know,” he admits. “I’m sorry.” 

“I was _going_ to say that she might not have time for a relationship in general,” Sansa says. “I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know her that well. But…” Sansa sighs, resting a hand on his arm. “I just think you should be careful, before you get tangled up in anything with her. I don’t want her to hurt you, Jon,” she says, and those Tully blue eyes, _exactly_ like her mother’s, blaze when they meet his. “You’ve come so far, and you’re so much better now. I don’t want anything to set you spiraling back. I can’t watch you go through that again.” 

He knows immediately what she means— she’s not referring to past heartbreaks or anything like that. No, because Sansa is the one out of all his siblings who _truly_ saw him at rock bottom. When everything at the Wall had happened, his family had rushed to his side, but after the first few scary days, when he was no longer in critical condition… 

Ned had had work, and Catelyn had _never_ cared enough about him to come to the hospital in the first place. Robb had just gotten a new job in King’s Landing, Arya was abroad in Braavos for the semester, and Bran and Rickon had been children, literally. But Sansa... Sansa had deferred her start at law school in King’s Landing till the following semester, even though he’d vehemently told her _not_ to. She had sat with him in that hospital through all the surgeries, listened to every single doctor speak with him and had taken _notes,_ helped him through the physical therapy and recovery and the move back to Winterfell. She had been the one to worry over him as he drank himself into a constant haze, as he had let the depression and the feeling of failure pull him under. And she had been the one to finally yank his sorry arse out of bed, four months after he’d been released from the hospital and the Night’s Watch, and drag him to the animal shelter with the rest of his siblings. She had been the one to pick up Ghost and place the pup in his arms. 

His other siblings had been there for him, of course, as they still are now. Arya had rushed to his side as soon as she was back in the country, and Robb and Talisa had taken extra weeks off from work to come see him in Winterfell as often as they could. His little brothers had fretted over him and tried to make him laugh, while they were all back under the same roof. But Sansa is the one who was by his side through it all. 

He exhales shakily, looking over to his sister. “I know,” he says quietly. “And I don’t want to go through it again either.” 

“I hope that didn’t sound like… I don’t know, like I think you’re fragile, or can’t handle yourself,” Sansa says, twisting Lady’s leash around her hand. “I know you can. You’re the strongest person I know.” She looks at him again, nothing but concern in her eyes. “I just don’t want you to fall for someone who will never make time for you. Who will only hurt you in the end. I don’t want you to have the rug pulled out from under you again.” 

“Thank you, Sansa,” he says, and he means it. “Truly. But I don’t think you have to worry,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s like I told Arya. Even if she felt the same, it wouldn’t be fair to her. All of my shit that she’d have to deal with.” 

“Oh, stop that,” Sansa says, and now her voice is the one with a bite of anger to it. “Do not go convincing yourself that you don’t deserve to feel happy because of your past. You deserve to be happy despite it. Even _more_ because of it, even.” 

Jon shrugs. It’s all well and good to say that, but three years later, he’s still not really sure he believes it. He’s getting better, but he’s nowhere near where he used to be. 

Ghost ambles back to Jon as he and Sansa fall silent, Lady following behind him. He nudges Jon’s palm with his nose, blinking those deep red eyes up at him, and Jon can’t help but smile. Ghost has never cared what a fucking disaster he still is. That’s the reason he’s been able to get back to the point he’s at now— that unfailing, unconditional love in his dog’s eyes. It might sound silly, or stupid, but that’s what got Jon out of bed those first few months. The excited thump of a tail against his chest and the press of a cold nose against his cheek. 

They lapse into silence as they continue to walk, rounding the corner of the duck pond. Ghost pads along at his side, nudging his hand every so often with his nose, before Lady yips at him and he races after his sister once again. Both he and Sansa laugh, watching their dogs frolic along the shoreline. 

“Oh,” Jon says, suddenly remembering what else happened at Tyrell today, and Sansa turns her head towards him, arching a brow. “I forgot. Margaery was askin’ me about you today.” 

Sansa’s cheeks immediately flush, her brows raising so high that he thinks they may disappear right into her hair. “Really?” she asks, and Jon can tell she’s fighting back a smile. He hums, nodding. 

“Aye. Asked me what you do. Said she thought you were lovely.” 

“Did she really?” Sansa asks, and it seems to Jon that she can’t help but beam. He chuckles at her, at the moonstruck look that’s come over her face. 

“What, do you think I’d make it up?” he says. Sansa just laughs. 

“No, I know you wouldn’t. Arya might, just to tease me.” She looks at Jon again, a smile tugging at her lips. “What’s she like? I didn’t really get to meet her properly.” 

Jon shrugs. “I dunno. She’s nice. I like her.” 

Sansa just rolls her eyes. “Thank you, Jon. That is _so_ insightful.” 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, incredulous. “She scares me a bit, to be honest.” 

“Why?” Sansa says, smirking at him. 

“She’s bloody persuasive. And she’s good at her job. I dunno,” he repeats. “I get the sense that she doesn’t quit until she gets what she wants.” 

Sansa hums, eyes drifting back to Lady. “She’s certainly very pretty,” Sansa muses, and Jon can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. 

“Aye, you’re right about that.” He’s not an idiot— he knows that Margaery is conventionally attractive. But any time he’s anywhere near her, he finds himself distracted by silver blonde curls, and eyes like the early blue of dawn. 

“I can give her your phone number, if you’d like,” he volunteers. “I usually see her when I go in for meetings.” 

Sansa just rolls her eyes at him. “Thanks, Jon, but I’m fine. I’ll find her myself.” 

His brow furrows at that. “What do you mean?” 

She laughs. “I’ll find her on her social media accounts. Not all of us are complete rubbish at using the internet, you know.” 

He shrugs, and Sansa giggles again, shaking her head, because she knows she’s right.  “Aye,” he admits. “I guess you have a point there.” 

***

He bids farewell to Sansa when they get back to her car, the dusky beginnings of sunset already painting the sky a rainbow of different hues— he invites her to stay for dinner, but she had promised to meet some friends from school, and has to leave. She pulls him into a hug before she goes, holding him tightly, letting some of the tension seep from his bones at her embrace. 

“Thank you, Sansa,” he mumbles into her shoulder. He’s never been particularly good at voicing his emotions well, but his sister deserves to hear this. “I appreciate it, really,” he tells her, the two of them separating. “You lookin’ out for me.” 

She smiles at him, sweet and caring, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it again. Her brow furrows in concern, and it strikes him how much she looks like her mother— and how different their expressions can still be. He’s never seen Catelyn exhibit half the amount of worry for him that Sansa currently has painted across her face. “Of course, Jon,” she says, eyes blazing, steadfast and true. She drops his hand, pulling Lady closer to her as she fishes her keys out of her purse. “I love you, you know that?” 

He nods. “Aye, I do. I love you too,” he says, and she turns away from the open back door, Lady already having hopped up into the car. “Have fun with your friends tonight.” 

“Thanks,” she says, with one last smile, before she climbs into her car and drives off. 

His flatmates are home from work now, as he can hear the sound of them even before he unlocks the door. They all call out in greeting to him as he walks in, Ghost hanging by his side as Jon unclips his leash. 

“Where’ve you been?” Edd calls, still invisible to Jon. He’s probably in the kitchen, fixing something to eat for dinner, based just on the way Ghost bolts right to the sound of Edd’s voice once he’s released. 

“Sansa met me here, and we took the dogs for a walk,” he says, heading down the hall. Edd is, indeed, in the kitchen, now caught up in a staring contest with Ghost, who clearly wants a piece of his dinner. 

“Ghost, stop it,” Jon scolds, his dog whining a little as he turns back to him. But he pads to Jon’s side obediently, nosing at his hand like he’s looking for treats, making Jon chuckle. 

“I was wonderin’ where you were, you mangy beast,” Pyp says from the couch, smiling widely as he pats the space next to him with enthusiasm. Ghost runs for the couch, jumping up gracefully and flopping down into Pyp’s lap. His friend laughs, ruffling Ghost’s ears affectionately as Jon takes a seat next to him. 

“At the park just down the street,” Jon offers, Ghost flipping over so Pyp can rub his belly. “Hopefully now he’s worn out enough to not wake me up at the bloody first light of dawn.” 

“Are you working tonight?” Grenn asks, appearing from the hall that leads to their rooms, changed out of his uniform and into casual clothes. Jon nods as he walks into the kitchen. 

“Aye. Gendry and I are closing tonight. Hopefully should be home around three.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s late,” Grenn says, reappearing with two beers in hand, giving one to Jon. “Is your girlfriend going to be there again?” he asks, sitting on Jon’s other side. 

Jon just glares. “Others take me, Grenn. She’s not my girlfriend.” 

“But you did have your office date today,” Pyp says, still stroking Ghost, his dog basking in the attention.

“That’s not what it is, but yes,” Jon relents. “I had to go into the office today for our meeting.” 

“Date,” Grenn corrects. 

Jon just shoves him. “Fuck you.” 

Grenn grins, unperturbed. “So how did it go?” 

“Did she say anything about you posting a picture of her on your instagram?” Pyp immediately follows up. Jon glares at them both. They haven’t stopped teasing him since he posted the picture of her days ago.

“No, she didn’t,” he says. “She seemed…” He’s not exactly sure how to articulate to his friends how the meeting went. How jarring it had been to see Dany’s mask of professionalism firmly back in place. “I dunno,” he finally says. “It’s different when we’re in the office, I guess. She’s very serious about her job.” 

“All the more reason to ask to see her somewhere that’s _not_ her job,” Grenn says. 

Jon takes a sip of his beer, grimacing at Grenn. “Fat chance of that happenin’.” 

“Yeah, because you won’t grow a pair,” Pyp says. Jon glares at him. 

“Ghost, do me a favor and rip Pyp’s throat out, would you?” Jon says. Ghost sits up from where he’s been lounging across his flatmate’s lap, nuzzling at Pyp’s cheek and licking it roughly. Pyp laughs, rubbing Ghost’s neck, his dog smiling lazily, tongue hanging out of his mouth. 

“Traitor,” Jon mumbles, though he pats Ghost’s head all the same. 

“Why _don’t_ you, Jon?” Grenn asks, marginally more serious now. “Girls fall all over you whenever we go out. I’d say you have a fightin’ chance, at least.” 

“It’s not that simple,” he insists, running a hand through his hair. He thinks back to what Margaery had said— even if she thinks Dany may not be as indifferent to him as may be believed, there’s no denying the cool, impersonal attitude she’d had towards him during their meeting. Maybe Margaery is right, and Dany cares about him. But maybe she regrets opening up to him, and she’s trying to shut him back out now, build those walls around her back up. 

“I think it’s probably simpler than you’re making it out to be,” Pyp says with a shrug. “Right now, Ghost has more game than you do.” 

Jon huffs humorlessly. “Ghost also doesn’t have loads of shitty baggage that he would dump on someone, so.” 

Grenn just rolls his eyes. “How well do you really know this woman, Jon? For all you know, she has shitty baggage of her own. You can’t use that as an excuse for the rest of your fuckin’ life.” 

“We’re not trying to say what you went through doesn’t matter,” Pyp says, ever the more delicate one. “But it’s been three years now, and you’re a lot better than you were. You can’t be afraid to live your life because of what happened in the past.” 

“I’m still not completely there yet,” Jon says, eyes casting down to his dog, rubbing a hand along his flank. “I’m still not back to the person I was before.” 

“So what?” Edd says, emerging from the kitchen with a plate of food, sitting down on the other end of the sectional. Ghost’s ears immediately perk up at the scent of Edd’s dinner.

“She doesn’t know who you were three years ago,” Edd says. “So who cares if you’re not the same person anymore?” 

Jon doesn’t answer, but he doesn't have to, because Grenn is as distracted as Ghost is by the appearance of food. “Did you make some of that for us?” he asks, just as Edd shovels a forkful into his mouth. The other man frowns, eyes narrowing at Grenn. 

“Who am I, your fuckin’ mother?” Edd asks, and Pyp laughs. “Make your own bloody dinner.” 

“Jon, you want pizza?” Pyp asks, already scrolling through his phone to find the number of the place down the street. 

“Yeah, get me my usual,” Grenn says, and Pyp just rolls his eyes. 

“I figured as much, you bloody fool.” 

That night at the bar, Jon leans against the counter as Gendry serves one of their usuals, the amount of people in the bar drastically dwindling as the hour grows closer and closer to one in the morning. He can just imagine Dany in the seat across from him, the way her hair had shined in the dim light of the bar, her eyes sparkling as he made her laugh. He thinks about the way she makes him feel lighter, happier, like maybe there’s some light at the end of the tunnel he’s been wandering down for the past three years. The way she makes the frozen, jagged edges of his heart start to thaw with just one small smile. 

He thinks of what Arya had said, and Sansa, and Edd. _Maybe she would give you a purpose again. You deserve to be happy, despite your past. She doesn’t know who you were three years ago._ And he thinks of Margaery— how she said she sees something in Dany’s eyes when she looks at him, even if she has her own demons to deal with. 

Maybe he’s not as hopeless as he thought. Maybe she just needs time and space to figure it out. And he can give her that— he understands the importance of that all too well. He may still be a mess, but when he’s with her, when he sees her smile, that’s the only time Jon truly feels hope take root in his chest. 

And if she has demons of her own— maybe they can fight them off together, for the both of them.

 _You sound like a daft, lovesick fool,_ his brain snaps at him, and he groans, leaning forward on his forearms. He does, truly. But there’s just something about Dany that is different. Her smile, her laugh. The fire that fills her, makes her fierce and powerful and strong. The way she looks at him sometimes, her eyes a kaleidoscope of blues and golds, like the sunrise over the mountains. 

There’s something about her that makes him think that fighting through all his past ghosts to make it to the end might actually be worth it, if he gets to be with her after it’s all over. 

***

Dany still can’t shake her dream by the end of the day on Friday. 

It’s _torturing_ her, making her distracted and dazed. She keeps trying to convince herself it doesn’t mean anything, but then there’s a part of her that insists it must mean _something,_ and it’s all ridiculously, aggravatingly confusing. She’s never been very adept when it comes to matters of the heart— see also, her previous two disastrous relationships— but she needs to get a handle on her feelings, or she’s not going to be able to do her work soon. 

That’s her ulterior motive when she invites Missandei and Irri over Friday for a night of wine and movies. As much as she wants to bury her dream far, far down, pretend it never existed, she needs to figure it out and _move on._ And she’s accepted that in order to do that, she has to tell her two best friends about it. 

Missandei and Irri show up together, both of them carrying multiple bottles of alcohol, for which Dany is beyond grateful. If she’s going to be convinced to talk about this, she’s going to need to get drunk first. 

They polish off the first two bottles of wine while they watch some silly rom com on Netflix, laughing and talking their way through the movie. Irri goes to fetch another bottle from the fridge while Missandei flips idly through the other movie options. But then she turns to Dany, a knowing look in her eye, and Dany knows that somehow, Missandei just _knows._

“Alright,” she says, just as Irri comes back into the room, new bottle of wine uncorked. “This has been fun, but I can tell something’s on your mind. You’ve been acting _weird_ for the past two days.” Missandei takes the bottle of wine that Irri offers her, refilling all three of their glasses. “So spill, Daenerys.” 

Suddenly, her tongue is frozen, heart pounding at the prospect of having to tell her friends about this, delve into her messy, tangled feelings. It’s something she doesn’t enjoy hashing out— she’d much rather push them all down and forget about them in the first place. And for the past several years, that’s worked very well for her. Until infuriating, stubborn, handsome Jon Snow came into her life. 

“Alright,” she says, picking up her feet, bringing her knees up to her chest as she sits on the couch. Irri takes the seat next to her again, looking at her curiously, but Dany avoids both of her friends’ eyes. “I…  I need help with something,” she admits, and they both nod immediately. “I just… something _happened_ and I can’t make sense of it. And it’s driving me mad.” 

“Of course,” Missandei says, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You can tell us anything, you know that.” 

Dany runs a hand through her hair, steeling herself to just _say_ it and get it over with. “Don’t judge me,” she pleads, and her friends look at her in confusion. 

“We would never,” Irri promises. “Why, did you murder someone? Because even if you did, we wouldn’t judge you at all. I think a lot of the men you two work with would deserve it.” 

“No, I didn’t murder anyone,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I…” She can feel the blush spreading across her cheeks, her skin hot as she buries her face in her hands. Gods, why is this so _hard?_ She’s a grown woman, for the sake of the gods, not some blushing maid. 

“Dany, just _tell_ us,” Missandei says, a hand on her hip, and she groans, finally willing herself to force it out. 

“I had a sex dream about Jon,” she says, all in a rush, and both her friends _gasp._

“You _what?!”_ Missandei says, and Dany just moans, squeezing her eyes closed in embarrassment. “When was this?” 

“Thursday, when you woke me up at my desk,” Dany admits, opening her eyes again. Irri’s jaw drops, her eyes widening in shock. 

“I _knew_ you were acting strangely,” Missandei says, a glint of triumph in her eyes at the revelation. 

“Hold on,” Irri says, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Jon is the brand ambassador you’ve been teaching to use instagram, right? The stubborn one? I thought he annoyed you.” 

“He doesn’t,” Dany immediately defends. “Or, well, he did. He’s stubborn, yes. But he’s more than that, too. He listens, and he’s kind, and he understands where I’m coming from now.” She pauses, smiling a little to herself, thinking of the way he looked at her on the side of that mountain. “And I get it— what his account means to him, why he’s so stubborn about it. We understand each other better.” 

“Apparently so, if you’re dreaming about him,” Irri teases. Dany groans again, leaning back against the couch cushions.

“I mean… I _like_ Jon. As a person. Not romantically,” she says. “At least I _thought,_ but now…” She moans in distress, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’m so confused. What does it mean?”

“Daenerys,” Missandei says, her composure regained, her voice certain and reassuring. “It means Jon is attractive, and it’s been far too long since you’ve gotten laid.” Dany cringes at that, because Missandei is not necessarily wrong. 

“But,” her friend continues, a hand rubbing over her shoulder, “I can tell this is bothering you for reasons _other_ than just your weekly meetings with Jon being slightly more awkward. So what’s the real issue here?” 

Dany sighs, because Missandei is completely, utterly right. Just like she always is. 

“I don’t know, Dei,” she says, looking between her two friends. Irri’s expression is one of complete concern as well, and she reaches over, taking Dany’s hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze. 

“I… we’ve started to understand each other, and get along better. And there are moments, like when we were hiking during the event, when he smiles or something…” she trails off again, unsure where to go with that. These are murky, uncharted waters she’s wading through, and she feels as if she’s navigating them without a lifeboat. “I like spending time with him,” she admits, Irri smiling sweetly at her, encouraging her to continue. “He makes me smile. Makes me feel like I _belong,_ almost.” She shakes her head, feeling, to her horror, tears pooling behind her eyes. She’d really love to get through this conversation without crying. 

“I don’t know. That sounds stupid, probably,” she confesses. 

“It does not,” Missandei says immediately. “It sounds completely reasonable. And I can see it, you know. How you’re happier around him.” 

Dany shrugs. “But I’ve been…. I’ve been telling myself it’s just friendship, or cooperation, or whatever. Because the alternative—” she shakes her head, biting at her lip, and immediately she can feel Irri and Missandei’s arms circling her, crushing her with their warmth and comfort. 

“Hey,” Irri says, voice low, soothing. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” 

She can’t stop the tears now, eyes squeezing closed as her friends hold her. “I’ve been convinced that I can’t feel like that for so long,” she whispers, like it’s a confession, an offering of her deepest secrets. “After Drogo, I… something in me broke, I thought. I didn’t think I’d ever feel anything again for someone after we broke up. And then I was with Daario, just to prove to myself I _could,_ and that backfired spectacularly.” She laughs humorlessly, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Because he fell in love with me, and I felt _nothing._ Nothing at all. And I knew for sure that my heart didn’t work anymore.” 

 _“Daenerys,”_ Missandei says, laying her head on her shoulder, her hand rubbing up and down her back comfortingly. Missandei and Irri know all that’s happened to her, know everything Drogo did to destroy her heart and her trust, but she’s never admitted out loud the residual effect their relationship still has on her. 

“I’m sorry,” she huffs, wiping at her eyes. Gods, she _hates_ that he still has this hold on her after so long, like he’s branded on her skin, and she’ll never be able to escape. Irri makes an indignant sound, hugging her tighter. 

“Do not apologize,” she insists. “You let it all out. We are here for you, and we will listen to whatever you want to tell us.” Missandei just nods in agreement. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” she admits, dropping her head forward, trying to take comfort in the feeling of her friends’ arms around her. “I like Jon, I do. I like spending time with him, and talking to him, and making him smile. And I don’t even mind teaching him to use his stupid fucking phone anymore,” she admits, and all three of them chuckle. “But that dream just… _completely_ freaked me out, because I don’t know what it means. I’ve thought for so long I couldn’t feel that for anyone. And all of a sudden, it feels like there’s this knot in my chest, and I can’t make any sense of it, and the possibility of it _terrifies_ me—” 

“Hey, hey,” Missandei says, straightening up so she can look Dany in the eye. “It doesn’t have to mean _anything,_ Daenerys. It doesn’t, really,” she says, when Dany arches an eyebrow at her skeptically. Gods above, she must look pathetic right now, small and sad and tear stained. Her friends truly are the best. 

“It was a dream. Do you know how many _ridiculous_ dreams I’ve had? Too many to count,” Missandei says. “The things our subconscious comes up with are frightening, sometimes. So if you don’t want it to mean anything, then don’t _make_ it mean anything. Just accept that it was some weird spark of your imagination and move on.” 

“She’s right,” Irri says, resting her head on Dany’s shoulder again. “You said you like spending time with Jon, right? Then just enjoy him being your friend. Enjoy hanging out with him. You don’t have to try to put meaning to a dream.” 

Dany exhales shakily. That, she thinks she can do. She can just enjoy the time they spend together, the warm, fluttery feeling that always dances in her chest when he smiles at her. She can keep laughing at his jokes and fawning over pictures of his dog and arguing with him over sponsored posts. She can just be his friend, because that’s all she wants. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, and her friends just look at her, eyes wide and sympathetic. 

“Of course,” Missandei says, a hand still rubbing up and down her back, helping some of the tension bleed out from her body.

“Alright, so,” Irri says, squeezing her hand again. “The dream didn’t mean anything. Jon is just a friend, and you just enjoy talking with him.” She smiles a little, though, her eyes lighting up with eagerness. “Still. Tell us about it.” 

Dany laughs, letting her head fall back on the cushions of the couch. “Really?” she asks. 

“Absolutely. I need to know,” Missandei says. “What was he like?”

She giggles again, shaking her head. “You know it wasn’t _real,_ right?” 

“I know, but still,” Irri says. “The curiosity is killing me.” 

“He seems like the slow, gentle type,” Missandei muses. “He’s so quiet, and broody. I would think you’d have to really draw it out of him. That he’d be hesitant, almost.” 

Dany huffs. “He certainly wasn’t in my mind.” 

“Oh?” Irri says, eyebrows raising suggestively. Dany turns scarlet, recalling the way Jon’s hands had roamed her body in her dreams— the sure, powerful strokes of his tongue against hers, the confident movements of his mouth against her breast. The way his hands had grabbed her arse and pulled her into the air, flush up against him. 

“Oh gods,” Dany says, burying her head in her hands. It’s not that she’s _embarrassed_ about the contents of her dream— gods know she’s told her friends _much_ more explicit details about her escapades with Daario— but thinking about her dream has her head spinning again, that tangle of emotions in her chest tugging tighter. 

“Alright, I can’t talk about it,” she says. “It’s just making me feel more awkward.” She leans forward, snatching up the remote, turning back to the abandoned Netflix menu in front of them. “Shall we watch another movie?” 

“Mmm,” Irri agrees, though she sees the warm smile she gives her, feels the reassurance as Missandei leans into her again, one arm looping around her waist. They start the movie, and though they don’t talk about Jon or Drogo or her feelings again, she feels content, finally. At peace.

Dany climbs into bed once Missandei and Irri leave, sleepy and wine drunk. When she finally drifts off to sleep, all three of her cats curled up around her, her dreams are uneventful enough that she doesn’t remember them in the morning.

***

When she goes back to work the next week, Dany is beyond relieved that everything seems, once again, blissfully _normal._

She attends too many meetings and stays too long after everyone else leaves, fighting through all her work like it’s a battle to the death she’s determined to win. She looks at her schedule for the entire week and lets herself smile a little when she sees the block on Thursday when Jon comes in. She won’t hide behind the mask of professionalism with him this week. She can’t stand to see that pain in his eyes once again. 

Everything is going perfectly, according to schedule and plan, until she forgets her lunch on Tuesday. 

Dany groans when she pulls open her bag, her lunchbox missing, evidently still abandoned on her kitchen counter, where she had forgotten to pack it this morning. Turning immediately to her calendar, she sighs in relief when she sees, at least, that she has an open hour for lunch. She had been planning on working on coordination for the photoshoot during her lunch, but she can spare a minute to walk to the café right next door. 

She grabs her purse and leaves her office, noticing that Missandei is gone— she has a meeting, she thinks, working on the responsibilities Olenna had had her take over for the Get Out There campaign. It feels strange to leave the office in the middle of the day— she can count on one hand the number of times she’s done that in the past year. 

The café next door is relatively new, but they’ve ordered there for meetings before, so Dany’s had the food even if she’s never been inside. It has a big wide porch outside, full of café tables, the lunch crowd just beginning to filter in. 

She goes in and orders her food, waiting out on the patio with a buzzer for it to be prepared. She stands by a table as she waits, scrolling through her email idly. The air outside is cool, autumn finally beginning to reach the south, and she can hear birdsong and the chatter of people as the warm midday sunshine washes over her. 

And then she hears a bark, and something collides with her from behind. 

Dany loses her balance, teetering on her heels, before strong arms reach out, catching her and keeping her from falling. She turns around in the stranger’s arms, finding that it’s not a stranger at all. 

It’s Jon. 

“Gods, Dany, I am so sorry,” he says, one hand running up and down her upper arm absentmindedly, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. His eyes are full of concern, their faces _so_ close, their noses practically brushing. 

It’s somewhat gratifying to know that the way Jon holds her is so similar to how she imagined it— his warm, strong hands wrapping around her, keeping her safe and close. 

He seems to realize how close together they are at the same moment she does, dropping her arms and stepping away. Dany turns her attention to the reason she had almost fallen in the first place, rolling her eyes at the huge white dog now sitting patiently at her feet. 

“Ghost,” Jon says, his voice exasperated. “What in the seven hells is wrong with you? You know better than to run at people.” Ghost just whines, pawing at Dany’s knee, like he’s asking for attention. She can hardly refuse his puppy dog eyes, reaching down to scratch at his ears. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Jon mutters darkly. “I don’t know what came over him, makin’ him misbehave like that.” 

“It’s alright,” Dany tells him, looking back up to meet Jon’s eyes. He has his hands shoved in his pockets, still looking down at his dog in aggravation, though when she turns towards him, his head lifts, eyes meeting hers through his dark lashes. 

“Uh, how’s your day been?” Jon asks, and she can see the cautious glint in his eyes, like he’s not quite sure how she’s going to react to him. She remembers the coldness that had permeated their meeting Thursday, cringing internally as she thinks back on it. 

But Missandei had been right. She enjoys spending time with Jon, and she’s not going to let one silly dream scare her off. So she smiles at him, determined to banish that hint of doubt in his lovely eyes. 

“Alright,” she says with a shrug. “Forgot my lunch at home, so. Here I am.” 

“I was wonderin’ how you’d found reason to escape,” he says, a little grin tugging at his lips. 

“Are you getting food too?” she asks, and he looks at the café behind them, taking it in for the first time. 

“I don’t know,” he says, turning back to her. “I am a bit hungry, I guess.” He hesitates, meeting her gaze. “Are you stayin’ here for a bit?” 

She can see, in his expression, that he’s asking more than that. He’s asking if she wants him to stay, or if she would rather be alone. Her heart thumps a little at his deliberate attempt to offer her control of the situation. It’s something that men very rarely grant her. 

She thinks to all the work for the photoshoot she has to do still, how late she’ll have to remain in the office tonight if she stays here with Jon. But then she thinks of the little smiles he gives her, the warmth that flows through her when he looks at her in that _way,_ the unbridled _hope_ that fills his eyes right now. 

“I don’t have any meetings until 1,” she says, and he smiles at her, wide and genuine and _real._ It takes her breath away a little bit. 

“I’ll go order something,” he says, looking down to his dog. “Uh, do you mind watchin’ Ghost for a moment?”  

“Not at all,” she says, taking the leash he’s offering her. She gives him a teasing grin, reveling in the light in his eyes at her look. “As long as he doesn’t try to knock me down again.” 

“Best behavior from you, alright boy?” Jon says sternly. “Or you’ll get none of my lunch.” Ghost just chuffs at that, making Jon roll his eyes as he walks into the café to place his order. 

Dany uses the time alone to text Missandei. _Ran into Jon at the café next door,_ she types. _Having lunch here. I’ll be back for my 1 pm with Renly, don’t worry._ Missandei just sends a string of excited emojis in response, and Dany giggles, putting her phone away as Jon returns holding both of their orders. 

“They were callin’ yours right as they gave me mine,” he says with a shrug. Still, a smile pulls at her lips as she thanks him, sitting down across from him at one of the tables, Ghost sprawling out between their feet. 

They chat amicably as they eat their meals, and it’s almost ridiculous, the sheer amount of _relief_ that Dany feels as they converse. She didn’t realize how scared she had been of losing that easy rhythm between the two of them until she had almost ruined it last week. 

They’re not going back there, though. She’s going to make sure she’s never the cause of that type of pain flitting through Jon’s eyes ever again. 

“I have about a million different things to oversee for the photoshoot next week,” she’s telling him, finishing off her salad. “Not everyone has been as _accommodating_ with their travel details as you were.” She shakes her head again, making a face, and Jon chuckles lowly as he gives another piece of steak from his sandwich to Ghost. “I think Wylla Manderly wants us to rent out a private jet for her to fly from White Harbor to Winterfell, for the sake of the gods.” 

“Well, Ghost was expectin’ a private jet, but I talked him down, for your sake,” Jon jokes. She can’t help but laugh, her heart feeling warm and tingly once again. 

“You’ve never tried to fly with him?” Dany asks, and Jon shakes his head no. 

“It’s easier to drive with him, since he’s so big. Cheaper, too. I’d rather pay for gas than for two plane tickets with extra room.” 

“When do you leave to drive up there?” she asks. “It’s far, isn’t it?” 

He shrugs. “Twenty hours, about. We’re leaving on Thursday, I think. We’ll stop somewhere in the Neck for the night, break it up.” Jon finishes off his sandwich, ignoring the pleading look from Ghost for one more bite. “Sansa and Arya are comin’ with me, though, so that will be nice.” 

“Are you excited to go home?” she asks. He wipes his fingers on a napkin, his brow furrowing, like he’s considering. 

“I am,” he says finally. “It’ll be nice to see my father, my other brothers.” He doesn’t mention his mother, Dany notices, but she doesn’t pry. She’s all too familiar with strained family relations, if that’s what this is. “And to get out of this bloody heat,” he adds. 

Dany laughs at that. “If you think _this_ is hot, how do you survive the summers here?” she demands. Jon just shrugs, reaching down to pet Ghost’s head. 

“I don’t, really. I hide in the air conditioning, and I go hiking up North. Northern summers are the best. Just the right temperature.” 

He looks up at her then, and the look in his eye is so intense, it makes her heart stutter. “I wish you were goin’,” he admits, lips quirking up in a sad little smile. “It’d’ be funny to see a southern girl like you out in the cold for a week.” 

She laughs at that, and his smile grows lighter, less sad. “I wish I was going too,” she admits. She pauses a moment, heart fluttering, debating whether or not to add what she really wants to say. “And not just so you could make fun of me for being so cold.” 

His smile at that is small, but the warmth that radiates from it is all-consuming. 

They keep chatting long after their meals are finished, until Dany’s phone starts chirping, and she realizes the time. “Gods, I have to go,” she says, gathering up her things in a hurry. “I have a meeting in ten minutes.” Jon stands as well, and she pauses before leaving. “You’re leaving Thursday,” she states, and he nods. “So I won’t see you then, will I?” 

“I suppose not,” he says, playing with Ghost’s leash. 

“Well,” she says, composing herself, trying to hide her disappointment at the prospect of not seeing Jon for nearly a week and a half. “I hope everything goes well. Even though I’ll be here, if you need anything— don’t hesitate to call me.” 

He smiles at her, small and sincere. “I won’t. Thank you, Dany.” 

She gives Ghost one last pet before she dashes off, but even as she walks back to the office, she cannot forget that parting smile that Jon had given her, his eyes light and warm, pulling her in and making her feel as if she was bathed in sunlight. 

She hurries off to her 1 pm, ignoring Missandei’s questioning eyebrow as she grabs her laptop and runs for the conference room. But even as she talks through everything, listens to Renly drone on, all she can think about is Jon. The warmth in his eyes, the little smiles he’d offered her, the comfortable, fluttery feeling in her chest while they had talked. How wonderful and natural and _right_ it feels to spend time with him. The yearning in his eyes as he’d told her he wished she was coming North with them. 

 _You could,_ a tiny, traitorous part of her brain insists. It’s a ridiculous notion— being out of the office only ever stresses her out more. She’ll be buried in paperwork when she returns. 

 _But it would be worth it,_ that part of her brain tells her. 

And suddenly, she can’t think of anything else. 

So when her meeting is over, she doesn’t go back to her office. Instead, she goes to Olenna’s. 

“Daenerys, dear,” Olenna says when she barges in, looking up from the finances piled in front of her. “What can I do for you?” 

“I want to go up north for the Winterfell photoshoot,” she blurts, trying to keep her expression neutral, professional. Not reveal how desperately her heart is beating in her chest at the thought of Jon showing her his home. 

Olenna just raises an eyebrow, surveying her in silence for a moment. “Alright,” she finally says. “Have Missandei book the two of you plane tickets for Saturday.” 

Dany just blinks at her in shock, hardly believing it could be that easy. “Is there anything else?” Olenna asks. 

“No,” she says, finally regaining the ability to speak. “No, that’s it.” 

“Alright then,” Olenna says, giving her a pointed look. “If you don’t mind, then, dear, I have quite a lot of work to get done.” 

“Of course,” Dany says, backing out of her office, retreating back to her own. Her brain is buzzing as she walks through the halls, finally coming to Missandei’s desk. Her friend gives her a curious look, clearly able to tell already that something is off. 

“Are you okay?” Missandei asks, and Dany shakes her head slightly, perching on the edge of her desk. Her mind is still buzzing, hardly able to believe she did something so impulsive. 

“I… I did something,” she says, eyes fixed on her office door, but all she can see in her mind is Jon’s little smile. 

“Based on that look, I’m scared to ask what you did,” Missandei counters. She looks back down to her best friend, her cheeks suddenly heating. 

“I may have said we’re going north for the photoshoot next week,” she says, bracing herself for Missandei’s reaction. But her friend does nothing but smile, shaking her head a little bit, bemused. 

“When do we leave?” she asks. “I’ll book the plane tickets.” 

She really doesn’t deserve someone as good as Missandei. 

With the plane tickets booked and the hotel accommodations updated, there’s only one issue that still needs to be resolved. She waits until everyone else has left for the night, the building quiet and dark, the only light the one coming from her office. Dany tucks her legs underneath her in the office chair, steeling herself, and grabs her phone, drumming her fingers against her desk as she listens to it ring. 

“Hello?” she finally hears, and her heart leaps at the sound of his voice, that rough Northern accent, sending thrills through her. Maybe this was a terrible decision. A colossal mistake. Maybe she should hang up now and call Olenna, tell her she can’t go north after all, that she made a horrible decision. 

But maybe, she thinks, it’s also the best choice she’s ever made. 

“Hi, Jon,” she says, and the pleased way he says _Dany_ when he hears her voice makes her stop doubting herself. 

“What’s up?” he asks, sounding mildly curious, but before she can answer there’s a flurry of sound in the background— people yelling, and a dog barking, muffled enough that she can’t make out specific words. “Oi, you lot!” she can hear him yell. “Can you quiet down, I’m on the bloody phone!” 

She doesn’t say anything, just laughs a little as someone on the other end says something back to him. “Fuck off, Grenn!” he calls, and then she hears the echo of footfalls and the click of a door shutting, silence filling the other line. “Sorry,” he says, to her this time. “My flatmates.” 

She shakes her head, smiling. “It’s quite alright.” She hasn’t lived with anyone since college— from the time she came back to Westeros, it’s just been her and her cats. Sometimes she misses the noise and commotion of living with other people desperately. 

“Is everythin’ alright with you?” he asks, and Dany shakes her head slightly, refocusing on why she called him in the first place. 

“Yes,” she says. “I just wanted to tell you. There’s been a change of plans,” she continues, and she squeezes her eyes closed, jumps off the edge of the cliff and just _tells_ him. “I _am_ going to be coming to Winterfell next week, for the photoshoot.” 

There’s silence for a moment, Dany’s heart pounding as Jon remains quiet on the other line. “Really?” he says finally, and her heart swoops at how _hopeful_ his voice sounds. 

“Yes,” she says. “Missandei and I are flying in on Saturday.” She pauses for a moment, but when he doesn’t say anything, she continues, needing to fill the silence. “I was wondering… Well, I’ve never been anywhere near as cold as the North, at this time of year. So I thought you could tell me what I might need?” She continues on, even though she _knows_ she’s rambling, the nervous energy bubbling inside her spilling over. “I can get anything from Tyrell very easily, and in time, but I’m not sure what I’d need— a coat, obviously, and boots, I assume—” 

“Dany,” Jon interrupts, and she can practically _see_ the smile tugging at his lips, hear it in his voice. “I can help you figure out what you need, don’t worry.” 

“Thank you,” she answers, relief flowing through her, easing her frayed nerves. Still, a part of her desperately hopes that he can’t see right through her, doesn’t realize why she’s _actually_ going up north with him.

 _It is because you like being around him,_ her brain chides. _Nothing more, nothing less._ That’s what she had decided. That’s what she can handle. 

“We could get lunch again tomorrow, and I could go through it all with you,” he says, and her heart skips a beat. “Er, if you want, that is. I know you’re really busy during the day.” 

She can’t help but melt a little at the mixture of hope and hesitance in his voice. Tomorrow is Wednesday, which means she’s supposed to have a meeting with Jorah at that time. But he’s generally free in the afternoon, and her old bear will understand if she reschedules. 

“That sounds perfect,” she says. “The same café as today?” 

“Aye,” he says. “I’ll see you there at noon.” 

“Tomorrow at noon,” she echoes, biting back a smile at the thought of seeing him again so soon. “Good night, Jon.” 

She can picture him smiling back at her, his eyes soft and shining. “Good night, Dany.” 

***

This time, Jon gets to the café first. 

He leaves Ghost at home too, despite his dog’s whining. He’s not risking him almost knocking Dany onto her arse again. Then she might reconsider spending an entire week with him and Ghost in Winterfell. 

He _knows_ she’s not going for him, he does. He knows it’s for work. It’s not a vacation or something, and she’ll likely be just as busy as she generally is. 

But there’s a part of him that _hopes_ it’s for him. And he can’t quite get that part to shut up. 

He sees her before she sees him, his breath catching as she hurries onto the café’s patio, her moonbeam curls swishing. They’re loose down her back, the front part twisted back into a few braids, a loose curl hanging down in front of her ear already. She’s so pretty it fucking _hurts_ sometimes, his heart speeding up when she does finally catch sight of him and smiles at him widely. 

“Hi,” she says, her heels clicking against the patio as she walks over to the table he’d grabbed for them. “Thank you so much for helping me with this.” 

He’d do things significantly more unfavorable than get lunch with her if she asked, he knows, but he just nods, fingers skimming against the edge of the table as he tries to keep his composure, not lose himself in the blue of her eyes. “Of course,” he says, with a shrug. “Uh, do you want to get food first?” 

When they sit back down at the table, food now in hand, Dany pulls open her computer immediately, turning it so he can see the screen as well. “I’ve been going through Tyrell’s catalogue,” she says in explanation, as his eyes roam over the tabs and tabs of products she has open. “And I’m realizing now that I’m in terribly over my head.” 

Jon chuckles, taking a bite of his lunch. “Aye, you could say that.” 

She bites her lip, looking at him with worried, furrowed eyebrows, and he wants nothing more than to take her face in his hands, smooth out the wrinkles in her forehead, lean in and erase all her worries with a kiss. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as the corner of her mouth quirks up slightly, and mild embarrassment floods her beautiful eyes. 

“Help?” she says, and Jon chuckles. 

They pick out a heavy coat and snow boots for her, as well as woolen socks for the days they’ll spend up in the mountains, and a warm hat, a scarf, and gloves. She looks skeptical when he mentions thermal undershirts and pants, but he can tell she’ll probably never stop complaining of the cold if she doesn’t get them. 

“I think I’ll be alright,” she argues, glancing warily at the screen. “I mean, it’s _September._ And we’re only going to be in Winterfell. It’s not like we’ll be in the Frostfangs, or something.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her. “What’s the farthest north you’ve ever been?” 

She blinks hesitantly. “The Trident?” she offers. “In October?” 

He takes the computer from her, adding the long johns to the list. “Trust me, Dany. You’re going to need them.” 

By the time their lunches are finished, she has a complete list of things she’ll need to survive the cold weather, emailing it off to whoever so that they can get all the products for her before her flight on Saturday. He’s not sure if she’ll leave, once they have it all sorted out, their food gone. His heart pounds as she packs away her laptop, dread curling in his stomach at the thought of her getting up and leaving now. But she doesn’t— instead she folds her hands on the table, looking at him curiously. 

“So,” she says, and Jon is caught in her eyes, in the light he finds there, flecks of blue and gold more beautiful than any landscape he’s ever seen. “What is the North like?” 

Jon huffs, not sure how to answer that succinctly. “Big,” he offers, and she makes a face at him. 

“I dunno, it is,” he continues. “King’s Landing has more people than the entire North all put together. Everythin’ is much more spread out up there.” He closes his eyes, and he can practically see the snow on the ground, the whitecapped mountains north of Winterfell, the shining red leaves of the weirwood at his home. “The air is cleaner. Sharper, almost. The North is harsh,” he says, and her eyes are fixed on him, enraptured. “But it’s also beautiful.” 

“Do you miss it?” she asks, and Jon blinks, a little taken aback by the question. It’s his home, sure. But it’s also the place where he almost died, and the place where he almost gave up, afterwards. It holds memories of some of the best, and some of the worst times of his life.

But he looks into Dany’s eyes, and the pain of his past doesn’t feel so heavy, for just a moment. 

“Aye, I do,” he tells her. “I like livin’ here, I guess. I like being close to my siblings. But no matter how long I spend away from it, Winterfell is always home, you know?” 

She nods slowly, understanding written all over her beautiful features. “I do,” she says sincerely, and Jon smiles a little at the feeling of _belonging_ that gathers in his chest. 

She asks him more about the North, and he tells her all about it— the parts of the Wolfwood where he and Robb used to go camping, the waterfalls in the mountains that Sansa would always beg them to visit. The way the snow glints when you look out across the fields from the highest windows of his house, the thundering crash of icy waves against the shore of Eastwatch. The way the world looks from the top of the Wall. He’s never been very good at pretty words, but he tries to describe them the best he can, and the captivated look in Dany’s eyes tells him that she understands. 

“I can’t wait to see it,” she says, shaking her head slightly, a smile pulling at her lips. “It sounds like an entirely different world.” 

“It feels like it sometimes.” Jon watches as she pushes a loose curl behind her ear, tracking the movement with his eyes, wondering what it would feel like to do that himself. 

“Will you show me everything, while we’re there?” she asks. Jon’s heart thumps traitorously— she’s going to be there for _work,_ he knows, not him. This isn’t a vacation, where he can spend every day showing her new things about his home. She’s going to be buried alive in work, as she always is. He’ll probably barely see her, he reminds himself. 

“If you want,” he says, not daring to get his hopes up. “Are you goin’ to have time, with all the work you have to do?” 

She frowns, as if she didn’t consider that. But then her expression hardens, her eyes alight with fire and determination, and he’s _captivated,_ caught in her spell with absolutely no desire to find a way out. 

“I’ll make time,” she says, and he smiles back at her, his heart speeding up at her vow. “I’ve never been north before. I want to see everything.” Her eyes soften, as she looks at him, her lips tugging up in a smile. “If you’ll show me, that is.” 

“Aye,” he promises, hope taking root in his chest. “I’ll show you whatever you want to see, Dany.” 

Her responding smile is so bright that for a moment, it’s easy to believe that she’s going there for _him._

***

The air gets colder, once they make it past the Neck. Cleaner, and crisper too. He can smell the hint of pines, the sharp smell of fresh snow, a thin layer of it stretching across the ground now. 

Arya turns around in the passenger seat, looking past Sansa and to the dogs in the back, rolling down the window so they can stick their noses outside the car and breathe in the scent of the North. 

It helps him think, Jon realizes, the clean, cool air of the North. King’s Landing is so stuffy, filled to the brim with people and buildings, the city lights so bright that you can’t even see the stars at night. Here, land stretches on for miles and miles, not even a hint of any cities for as far as the eye can see. It’s like when he and Ghost go out hiking— there’s nothing to take in but the beauty of nature, nothing to see except the wonders of the world around them. It’s humbling, being surrounded by nothing made by man, everything thousands of years older than the First Men, things that will stand long after the cities crumble and everything manmade disappears. 

They drive and drive, stopping along the way for gas, getting food in Moat Cailin. It’s almost dusk by the time they’re drawing close to Winterfell, the snow on the ground turning a million different colors as the sun sinks lower, disappearing behind the tops of the trees of the Wolfswood. They’re not far at all from their house now— Jon can practically picture the long drive, the tall stone towers of the place he grew up, dark gray against the stark white of the snow. 

Nymeria sticks her head back out the window, sniffing at the air like she can tell how close they are. All three of them turn to look at the dogs as she howls, long and low, like a cry for home. Ghost and Lady join in as well, the three of them pressed together, paws touching, as they shove their heads out the window and howl along. 

They quiet after a moment, but then Jon hears it. A faint, echoing howl, a return call from the rest of the pack, only a few minutes away now. 

Arya smiles in the front seat, crossing her legs underneath herself. “The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” she says, eyes alight, and he and Sansa smile, remembering how Ned used to say that to them when they were young. 

“They can tell we’re home,” Sansa answers, and Jon’s heart fills at the word. _Home._ He lets it wash over him, fill him up inside, as the stone towers of their house finally come into view. 

“Aye,” he says, looking between his two sisters, and he can feel the truth of it in his bones. “We are.”

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48369593396/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay before y'all murder me I just want to point out that if I am dead, I won't be able to give you the ACTUAL sex scenes, so. Just bear that in mind.


	7. Chapter 7, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, seeing as we are up North, you may as well enjoy the change of scenery,” Missandei says, sitting back so that Dany can see out the plane window on the other side of her. 
> 
> Dany’s about to respond with a quip of her own— she can tell what her friend is insinuating, and she’s been waiting all week for Missandei to finally break down and tease her over her sudden and obvious reasons for their journey north. But then her eyes catch on the landscape outside the window, and her words die in her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a surprising turn of events, yes, I AM actually back with a new chapter!
> 
> Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. I promise to never make you guys wait this long for a chapter again, haha. I did have a LOT of big life events going on, in my defense (see also: I am now a college graduate!) Still, the support and encouraging comments from you guys during this (god has it really been almost seven weeks I am THE WORST) hiatus most definitely kept me going as I powered through this BEAST. The funny thing is, this is the longest chapter of this fic so far, and it's only HALF of the time at Winterfell. I had originally been planning on having this and the next chapter all together as one, but decided for your eyes' and patiences' sakes I'd split it in two. The next half is already partially written, though, so the wait should be NOWHERE near as long. (I have a feeling this whole 2 part thing is gonna happen for another chapter at the end, lol.)
> 
> Thanks a million to my incredible betas for whipping this beast into shape in record time, and to YOU, all my wonderful, dedicated readers (which I'm still not sure why so many of you are here but THANK YOU.) This chapter was a bitch to write, and I don't think I would have finished it if not for all your encouraging asks and comments and everything. You guys are the BEST. 
> 
> Alright, enough from me. FINALLY, here is a new chapter for you. I'd love to hear what you think afterwards! I hope you enjoy!!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48705829227/in/dateposted-public/)

_“Daenerys.”_

At the sound of her name, Dany looks up from her laptop screen, turning towards Missandei and her imploring eyes. She grimaces apologetically, realizing that her friend has clearly been trying to get her attention for a few minutes.

“Sorry,” she says. “What is it?” 

“We’re about to land,” Missandei says, nodding towards her laptop and tray table. “You have to put your computer away.” She smiles teasingly. “I know how difficult that is for you.” 

“Oh, stop,” Dany says, rolling her eyes. “I’m just trying to keep up with everything.” 

“It’s Saturday,” Missandei counters. She, Dany can see, has a movie playing on the television screen in the back of the seat in front of her. 

“And I’m out of the office for the entire week,” Dany responds. “I can’t afford to fall behind.” 

“Well, seeing as we are up North, you may as well enjoy the change of scenery,” she says, sitting back so that Dany can see out the window on the other side of her. 

Dany’s about to respond with a quip of her own— she can tell what her friend is insinuating, and she’s been waiting all _week_ for Missandei to finally break down and tease her over her sudden and obvious reasons for their journey north. But then her eyes catch on the landscape outside the window, and her words die in her mouth. 

It’s so _white._

There’s snow covering everything, sparkling in the afternoon sunshine, like something out of a dream. And it’s so _big,_ too. Winterfell is a tiny cluster of buildings compared to the sprawling mess of King’s Landing, the dark green firs of the Wolfwood creeping up to the edge of the city, snowcapped mountains visible beyond the trees. Fields of white snow stretch on beyond the city on all sides, illustrating succinctly just how vast the North is. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen before in her life. 

“Wow,” Missandei whispers, both of them staring awestructake in the landscape below her. 

“It seems unreal,” Dany responds, voice hushed. “Like a dream, or something.” 

“It does,” Missandei agrees. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

They watch the city below grow larger for the rest of the descent, Dany’s work long forgotten, laptop packed into her bag and tray table up. By the time they land on the ground, the snow sparkles even more, covering the fields on either side of the tarmac in a thin blanket of white, shining like crushed diamonds. 

The beauty of the North disappears, however, the second they step off the plane and onto the jetbridge. 

“Gods above,” she says, wrapping her arms around her, wishing she had dug the heavy coat Jon had helped her pick out from her carry on bag before they had left their seats in first class. It feels like the air is _stabbing_ her, working its way underneath her warm sweater persistently. “Alright, I’m over the cold.” 

Missandei just laughs. “I think this is probably nowhere near how cold it will be in the mountains on Tuesday.” 

“I’m beginning to regret this decision,” Dany mumbles, rushing through the jetbridge as fast as she can, determined to reach the warmth of the terminal before she turns into an icicle. 

“I have a feeling those regrets will disappear once we get to see a certain someone,” Missandei says neutrally. Dany doesn’t respond, choosing to steadfastly ignore her friend and her teasing little smirk, like she knows how right she is. 

The truly annoying thing is, that from the way her heart has sped up at just the _thought,_ Dany knows Missandei’s words are true. 

The airport itself is much warmer than the weather outside, and Dany doesn’t feel in danger of freezing to death at all as they follow the rest of the people from their flight to the baggage claim. Once their suitcases are recovered, Missandei is immediately on her phone, presumably to speak with whatever service is picking them up. Dany takes advantage of the brief moment of rest to extract her new warm coat from her bag and pull it on, determined not to freeze again when they leave the airport. 

“Do we have a driver coming for us?” Dany asks, surveying the small crowd of people holding signs with names. None of them read _Targaryen,_ though, or even _Tyrell,_ like they sometimes do when she flies to the Essos office for business. 

Missandei’s brow pinches together, her mouth pulling into an expression that Dany can’t _quite_ read. “Sort of,” she says, her face lighting up with recognition as her eyes land on something ahead of them. Dany’s lips purse in confusion, following her friend’s line of sight, before she sees what Missandei is looking at. Or, she realizes as her heart speeds up, _who,_ more accurately. 

“The car company was all booked for today,” Missandei explains, beginning to walk again, Dany following behind. “So I made a call.” She looks over at her with a smirk, and Dany tries to compose herself, not let the wide smile threatening to break out across her face win. “Jon!” Missandei calls, and he turns towards them, hands shoved in his coat pockets, a little smile pulling at his lips as his eyes meet hers. 

Her heart flutters, realizing how much she’s _missed_ him. Which is ridiculous— she saw him only three days ago. She normally goes a _week_ in between seeing him. But seeing Jon again makes something inside her settle, almost— like a missing piece is just sliding into place. It’s a comforting feeling, and one she doesn’t want to forget anytime soon. 

She’s not quite sure when it happened, but somehow, Jon Snow became someone she cares for dearly.  

“Hi, Dany. Missandei,” he says as they reach him, but his eyes linger on her, even as he says her best friend’s name. Dany’s stomach flips, caught up in his eyes, taking in the warm dark brown that’s been trapped in her mind for the past few days. “You have a good flight?” 

“Yes,” Missandei says, and her words seem to unfreeze Dany, pull her back to reality. “We saw almost the whole North from the window. It looks beautiful.” 

Jon’s lips twitch into a smile. “Snow’s a bitch to deal with, but aye, it is pretty. Especially from above.” He looks between the two of them, surveying their collection of bags. “You have everythin’?” 

“Yes, we do,” Dany says, finally finding her voice again. Jon’s eyes find hers, and there’s just something about the way he’s looking at her— his eyes brimming with something almost like hope. 

“My car’s in the lot just across the way,” he says, gesturing towards the sliding doors behind them. 

“Lead the way,” Missandei says. “And thank you again for coming to get us.” 

Jon shakes his head noncommittally. “It’s nothin’.” 

The cold air beyond the airport doors knocks the wind from her lungs, the chilly breeze whipping at her hair, making her teeth chatter. Missandei looks equally uncomfortable as they walk across the pickup loop to the parking lot, but Jon, _infuriatingly,_ seems completely nonplussed— he isn’t even wearing a hat, Dany realizes, his bare hands shoved in his coat— which is nowhere near as thick as hers, either— pockets. Jon looks back at her, shivering in her puffy coat, and the bastard has the audacity to _smirk._ If it wasn’t such a pretty sight, she might slap him. 

“I told you,” he murmurs, shrugging apologetically. Dany just makes a face at him, but her lips curl up into a smile despite herself, and his eyes fill with light at the sight. 

Jon loads their bags into the back of his car when they reach it a moment later, graciously allowing Dany and Missandei to climb into the car to avoid the chilly air. Jon’s curls are windblown when he finally opens the driver’s side door, starting the heat up the moment the car is on. 

“It heats up pretty fast,” Jon says apologetically. Missandei hums contently as warm air washes over them, Dany peeling off her gloves as Jon backs out of the parking lot. 

“Well, welcome to the North,” he says as they turn out of the airport, onto the main road. Dany looks up from where she’s trying to defrost her fingers, her mouth falling open a little at the city of Winterfell sprawling around them. 

It’s _nothing_ like King’s Landing in the slightest— with a few exceptions, like the Red Keep and the Sept of Baelor, King’s Landing is modern and sleek, full of towering skyscrapers and steel and glass. Winterfell looks like it’s been frozen in time, somehow, full of gray stone buildings low to the ground, narrow brownstone apartment buildings with slanted roofs, little shops with brightly lit windows. The cars lining the streets almost look out of place, warm light washing over everything from the lamp posts along the sidewalks. But the most amazing thing is the blanket of white that covers the roofs, the fresh dusting of powder on the sidewalks, making everything look sparkling and pristine and perfect. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes, eyes fixed on the buildings moving by. She sees Jon smile from the corner of her eye, her heart fluttering at the sight. 

“This is Wintertown,” he says. “It’s an older part of the city. Hardly anythin’ has changed in the past hundred years.” He looks over at her, and Dany tears her eyes away from the city to meet his gaze briefly. “The rest of the city’s a little more modern.” 

She and Missandei watch the landscape as Jon drives them through the city, the buildings eventually becoming more modern, looking more like King’s Landing. Still, the gray stone and slanted roofs are mixed in, giving the entire city a feeling of old world charm. It’s unlike any other place Dany has ever seen. 

The hotel is only a few more minutes away, and Jon pulls to a stop at the middle of the circular drive, right in front of the front doors. For a hotel in the city, it has a surprising amount of lawn around it— right now it’s all blanketed in snow, sparkling white in the late afternoon sunshine. Her eyes linger on it as they climb out of the car, a bellhop rushing over to help Jon with the bags, Missandei making a beeline for the warmth of the hotel lobby. Dany knows she should probably head inside as well, but… 

The North is so _different—_ she can’t think of a single place she’s ever been that reminds her of the one she’s currently in. Dany feels almost as if she’s stepped onto another planet, another world completely from the one she’s always lived in. The wind picks up again, icy against her skin, but even as she wraps her arms around herself, shivering in the breeze, she can’t help but appreciate the beauty of this place. It’s a little harsh, a little dangerous, but there’s a raw, unbridled power to the North that enthralls her. It’s not like King’s Landing, where people crowd together and the towering buildings make it seem as if nature has no influence over anything. Dany’s never held any particular faith, but she can see how people here believe in the Old Gods— here, men can build their cities and roads and pretend they are in charge, but the white winds still blow and the snows still fall as they have since the dawn of time. 

“You alright?” she hears next to her, and Dany turns to see Jon, half a smile pulling at his face as he studies her. His dark hair is such a stark contrast to the snow behind him, his black coat like midnight against the dazzling white of the lawn. He looks so at home here, so at ease, like he did that day in the Kingswood. And even in the freezing air of the North, the warmth of his gaze makes her forget the cold, heat seeping through her body from her head to her toes. 

Dany opens her mouth to respond, realizing she’s been staring at Jon for a _bit_ too long, but then something cold and wet hits her cheek, and she forgets what she was going to say. Instead, she looks up, eyes widening in amazement as she realizes that it’s _snowing._

Tiny white flakes drift down from the sky, more of them peppering her face, getting caught in her hair and on her gloves. She holds one up to her face, studying the distinct, crystalline pattern before it melts away to nothing against the black fabric. Dany laughs, looking up at the sky again, watching as the snow falls around them like something out of a fairytale. She feels like a child suddenly, faced with such a simple wonder of the world for the first time, pure joy bubbling up inside of her. 

She hears Jon chuckle next to her, and Dany turns, quirking an eyebrow at him questioningly. “What?” she demands, suddenly a little embarrassed by her reaction to something as common as snow. Jon’s seen it snow probably a million times— she must look like a daft fool, a complete lunatic, staring at the sky like precious gems are raining down instead of frozen water. 

“Nothin’,” he says, shaking his head. His smile is soft, though, no judgement at her sudden lapse back to five-year-old behavior. “You just look so happy.” He shrugs, Dany’s heart leaping into her throat at his admission, the heat in his gaze as he looks at her. “I’m glad I could be with you when you saw it snow for the first time.”

She smiles at that, her self consciousness melting away as fast as the snowflake on her gloves earlier had. Instead, she feels settled, content. _Seen._

“I’m glad, too,” she admits, getting caught in his gaze. A smile tugs at his lips, but the warmth that floods his eyes, shining as they look at her— there’s something in them that she hasn’t seen directed towards her in a very, _very_ long time. Something she thinks looks a lot like love. 

She knows it can’t be— that would be ridiculous. She and Jon are friends now, and she enjoys spending time with him, but Jon doesn’t _love_ her. He can’t love her. That would be… too much. Too much for her to handle right now. But the heat in his gaze, the light of his eyes as he looks right into hers, like he’s seeing through to her very heart— it’s thrilling and terrifying and comforting, somehow right and wrong all at the same time, a huge tangle of emotions all wrapped up together, a puzzle her mind can’t quite grasp yet. 

She knows why she came to the North, even if she’s given other reasons to other people. She came north for _him._ And the way her heart speeds up when she looks at him, the way she’s starting to push off her duties just to see him again— the implications of all of that makes her feel _something,_ deep in her chest, tugging at her heart and begging to be set free. To consume her, wash over her, set every part of her aflame.

But that feeling is terrifying, and not quite something she’s ready to confront yet. So instead, she looks up at the snow again, letting Jon’s gaze on her keep her warm in the cold. 

***

Jon always forgets how much Winterfell feels like home until he’s back there. 

He’s spent most of the weekend basking in that feeling, enjoying being around all of his family again. Well— almost all. Robb’s absence is hard to ignore, but he understands why they hadn’t driven twenty hours while Talisa is eight months pregnant. 

“Gods dammit, Jon!” Rickon curses, tossing a pillow at him as he wins another round of the video game they’ve been playing all afternoon. He doesn’t mind, smiling slyly at his brother, Bran cackling from the other end of the couch. 

“Rickon Stark, you watch your language!” Catelyn’s voice echoes from down the hall. Rickon rolls his eyes, reaching down to scratch Shaggydog’s ears where he lays at his feet. 

“Sorry Mum,” he responds, but Jon can tell he hardly means it. 

“Next time you ask me to race you, thinkin’ I’ll be easy to beat, consider I live with Pyp and Grenn,” Jon tells his little brother. 

Rickon opens his mouth to respond back, but then there’s a clatter from the front hall, and a voice calls out: “Hey, anyone want to help us with all these bags?” 

All three of them freeze in shock, because Jon’s almost positive that’s _Robb’s_ voice. 

 _“Robb?!”_ Rickon calls, unfreezing and bolting from the living room, Shaggydog and Summer hot on his heels. Jon and Bran stand too, following their brother down the hall, and he can hear footsteps in the rest of the house, the remaining members of his family flocking towards the commotion in the front hall.

And sure enough, there are Robb and Talisa in the front doorway, Grey Wind already running excited circles around his brothers. 

“Robb!” Bran says with a laugh, tackling his brother in a hug. Robb laughs back, seizing his baby brother and squeezing him tightly. He releases him and turns to Rickon, almost as tall as he is now. 

“Gods, have you grown a foot since I was last here?” he says, ruffling Rickon’s hair affectionately. 

“Maybe if you came home more often, you wouldn’t notice as much,” Catelyn says, Jon turning to let his aunt pass by him and hug her eldest son. 

“It’s good to see you, Mother,” Robb says, holding her fiercely. 

“Robb, is that you?” Sansa says, appearing as well, Arya right behind her. Nymeria tears down the hall as well, jumping all over her brothers. “What are you doing here?” 

“We didn’t want to miss the family reunion,” Talisa says over the barking, hugging Catelyn briefly. Jon shares a smirk with his goodsister— Catelyn has never much liked Talisa either, and she and Jon often bond over her disdain towards the two of them. His aunt is still sore that Robb had dumped that _lovely_ Frey girl she had loved so dearly in favor of his now-wife. Although she does seem to have warmed up to her a little bit, now that she’s about to have Catelyn’s first grandchild.

“And Talisa’s not allowed to go to work anymore, and it’s driving her crazy, so I took the week off last minute,” Robb explains. “We’ve been driving since Friday morning.” 

“Here, give me your bags,” Jon says, trying to move through the tightly packed space filled with bodies and oversized dogs. “Seven hells, can we send the dogs outside?” 

“Hey, you lot, come here!” Rickon says, snapping to get the dogs’ attention. “Go outside with Ghost and Lady!” 

“What’s going on down here?” Ned asks, appearing in the hall as soon as Rickon leads the dogs out. His eyes widen when he catches sight of his son, a smile stretching across his face. “Robb,” he says, moving forward. “We didn’t know you were comin’.” 

“We weren’t, originally,” he admits, clapping his father on the back. “Couldn’t resist a family reunion, though.” 

“It’s good to have you both here,” Ned says, hugging Talisa too, minding her swollen stomach. “My son really made you drive almost three days straight when you’re about to have his baby?” 

Robb looks sheepish at Ned’s accusations, but Talisa just laughs, patting Ned on the arm. “Don’t worry, he made sure we took breaks. We spent a night right outside the Eyrie, and another in Moat Cailin.” 

“You didn’t stop at the Twins?” Sansa asks, grabbing a bag as well, leading everyone out of the hall and into the kitchen. “It’s more on the way.” 

“Gods no. I hate the bloody Twins,” Robb says with a shudder. Rickon comes back into the house from the door off the kitchen, all the dogs running circles around each other in the yard now. 

“How would you even know it’s more on the way, Sansa?” Rickon demands, a shit-eating grin stretching across his face. “Didn’t you fail geography?” 

“Others take me, I passed it _eventually!”_ she says, eyes flashing dangerously. Everyone erupts into laughter— even Catelyn smiles, patting her daughter’s arm affectionately. 

“I’m about to graduate with a law degree a _semester_ early with highest honors, and all anyone can remember is _still_ that I failed _one class_ when I was in high school?” she demands. Her eyes turn on him, and Jon feels his stomach sink. “Jon failed it too, if I remember correctly!” 

“But now he drives around the country all the time and never seems to get lost,” Robb says, slinging an arm over Jon’s shoulder. He just rolls his eyes amicably at his brother. “Clearly he’s doing alright.” 

“Okay, enough, enough,” Arya says, sticking her hands out in mediation. “As someone who _did_ pass geography, I say we move on.” 

“Please,” Sansa says with a huff. “Jon, help me with the bags. We’ll take them upstairs for you.” 

The two of them trudge up the stairs to the guest room that used to be Robb’s room, placing all of his and Talisa’s bags on the end of the bed. By the time they get downstairs, everyone has dispersed— Rickon and Bran are back to their video games, Arya is outside with the dogs, and Catelyn is just finishing her doting over Robb while Ned chuckles to himself at his wife’s affection. 

“Alright, Mum,” Robb says with an amicable laugh as he bats Catelyn’s hand away from ruffling his hair. “Can I please make sure my eight-month-pregnant wife is alright now?” 

“Robb, I am perfectly capable of _walking_ by myself,” Talisa argues, but there’s a smile pulling at her lips as Robb loops his arms around her waist, guiding her into the living room. Jon thinks back to that day, weeks ago, when he had been at their house, and seeing the two of them with their future sprawling before them had made him feel like he was plummeting back into darkness. But that feeling isn’t here anymore— instead, there’s hope in his chest, delicate and new, just taking root. Jon watches his brother and his goodsister walk into the other room, and can’t help hoping that one day, _he_ might have that for himself. 

“Has he been like this the whole time?” Ned asks, and Jon is pulled from his thoughts, turning towards the man he considers his father. A smile tugs at his lips as he nods. 

“The whole time,” he confirms. “Sansa, Arya, and I all took bets on how many months it would take Talisa to strangle him. We’ve all lost by now. She has much more patience for Robb’s fretting than we expected.” 

“You’ll see,” Ned says, smiling slightly, as he places his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “One day, you’ll have that for yourself. And you’ll do the same.” 

Jon shrugs, unable to meet his father’s eyes. Generally, things like that just make everything feel bleaker, because for the past three years, he’s accepted he’ll never get that for himself. He’ll never truly be back to the person he was, find someone willing to share that future with him. 

But now, it’s undeniable. That _hope,_ that just maybe he will. 

He doesn’t even have to think to know the reason for it, either. 

Ned turns and walks away before Jon can say anything else, leaving him in the kitchen with his heart beating optimistically. He just stands there a moment, before Robb’s voice from the living room knocks him out of his stupor. 

Bran and Rickon are back in their spots from earlier, though now they’re just racing each other, Rickon’s brow furrowed in concentration. Jon ruffles his hair as he walks by to sit next to Robb on the other end of the couch— Rickon grumbles at him, but even if he’s almost eighteen now, he’ll still always be Jon’s baby brother. Of all his siblings, Rickon’s the one he can remember being born; he remembers how important he had felt when Ned had sat him down in the hospital among his other siblings while Catelyn slept, lowering the tiny baby into his scrawny ten-year-old arms. Even now, as he grows more and more, it’s hard to separate that memory from the almost-man in front of him.

“Everythin’ alright?” Jon asks, sitting next to Robb, watching as Talisa’s eyes slide closed contently, her hands on her stomach as she reclines back in Ned’s armchair. Robb nods, eyes alight as he meets Jon’s eyes in a way that almost scares him. 

“Of course,” Robb says. “Tell me, what have I missed? How is everything going?” 

Jon’s brow furrows in confusion. “Er, fine, I guess,” he says. “Catelyn doesn’t seem to be looking at me with as much hatred as she _usually_ does, so that’s good, I suppose. And I’ve been kicking Rickon’s arse at all his video games as well.” 

Robb pulls a face. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he accuses, though Jon really wants to respond and tell his brother _no, he doesn’t._ “How are things with Daenerys?” 

Jon blinks, frozen for a moment. That’s not what he was expecting— although maybe he should have assumed, given how bloody _nosy_ all his siblings have been on this front. 

“Who’s Daenerys?” Bran immediately butts in, Rickon whining in protest when Bran pauses their race. Jon sighs, tilting forwards to bury his head in his hands. 

“The woman Jon fancies,” Robb says gleefully, and Rickon forgets about the game being paused. Jon just groans again. 

“I don’t—” he starts, but then he sees Talisa laughing, even with her eyes still closed, and knows there’s no point in denying it. He does fancy her, after all. A lot more than he’s fancied _any_ woman in a long time. 

“She’s the woman who works for Tyrell, that I’ve been working with on this sponsorship thing,” he explains to his little brothers. “That’s why I’m here this week, really. Ghost and I have to be in some… bloody photoshoot on Tuesday.” He turns back to Robb, scowling at him. “And things are fine, I guess. I’ve barely seen her since I picked her and Missandei up from the airport.” 

Robb sits up straighter at that, his brow pinching. “What do you mean, you’ve barely seen her?” he demands. 

Jon just glares back defensively. “She has work, Robb. She’s busy.” He assumes, anyways. He hasn’t heard from Dany since he dropped them off at the hotel yesterday afternoon, and even though she had said at lunch she would make time, that she wants him to show her the North— he still doesn’t want to assume, or impose. He knows she probably has a million other things to do. And he knows she’s not here because of him. 

“Bullshit; it’s the weekend,” Robb counters as Catelyn walks through the room, not saying a word. Rickon splutters indignantly, gesturing to his older brother. 

“Robb can say _bullshit_ without getting yelled at, but you screech at me if I say _gods dammit?”_ he demands of his mother. She crosses her arms sternly, pausing on her way through the room. 

“While you live under my roof, you will follow my rules, young man,” she says with a withering glare. “And if I catch you using language like that again I am taking away that cursed video game console for the rest of the year, I swear it to the gods.” Robb cackles as his mother leaves the room again, Rickon still looking properly mollified, and Jon can’t help but join in the laughter. 

Sometimes he forgets how much he misses the chaos of Winterfell until he’s back there with all his siblings.

“Tough luck, lad,” Jon says, reaching over to thump Rickon on the back. He swats Jon’s hand away jokingly, rolling his eyes at his older brothers. 

“Don’t think I’m letting you change the subject,” Robb interjects, and Jon groans again. “Why haven’t you seen Daenerys at all?” 

Jon shrugs sheepishly. “I don’t want to bother her. I know she has lots to get done.” 

Robb just rolls his eyes at that. “Jon, she came north for _you._ If you don’t take advantage of that opportunity, I swear to the old gods and new, I’ll disown you.” 

“You’re my brother, you can’t disown me,” Jon argues. Robb just shrugs. “And she didn’t come north for me.” He glares at Robb, although he can’t help the way his heart thumps, still desperately _wishing_ that was the reason. “She’s here because it’s her job.” 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t she originally say she _wasn't_ going to be coming north?” Talisa asks, fixing Jon with a look. He scowls in return.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anythin’. There was just a change of plans.” 

“A change of plans that happened to occur on the same day the two of you went on a date?” Robb asks. 

“You went on a _date_ with a girl?” Rickon says, that shit-eating grin back on his face. “Jon has a _girlfriend!”_

“Shove off,” he says, pushing his brother’s shoulder in jest. “Y’know, you still _act_ like a fourteen year old.” He turns back to Robb. “And it wasn’t a date.” 

“Fine, whatever,” Robb says. “You got lunch with Daenerys, and then later that day she decided she _was_ coming north after all. That doesn’t seem like a coincidence.” Jon opens his mouth to protest again, but Robb cuts him off. “Regardless, I know you’re a stubborn arse, so for argument’s sake, I’ll agree with you for the moment. Even if she’s _not_ here for you, she’s still _here.”_

Jon looks at his brother, feeling like he’s missing something. Although that could be due to the fact that he now can’t get that image of Dany at the café out of his head, the way she had smiled at him, her eyes lighting up as he had told her of his home. 

“So?” Jon says, trying to focus back on his brother. 

“So,” Robb says. “Even if she’s not here for you, that doesn’t mean you should wait for her to make a move all week. She said she wanted to see the North, didn’t she?” Jon nods wordlessly. “You know the North. So pick up the bloody phone, invite her to do something with you, and charm her with your tour guide skills.” 

 _“Tour guide skills?”_ Jon says, hardly able to fight down a laugh. Bran is shaking with silent laughter in his chair, unable to maintain his composure. 

“Oh, you bloody well know what I mean,” Robb says, Talisa chuckling at him. “We’re going to Tormund’s tonight. Call her and invite her, now.” 

“We’re going to Tormund’s?” Jon asks, brow furrowing as he surveys his brother and goodsister. Not that he’s complaining— he’ll gladly go visit one of his best friends in the North at his pub; he’s been meaning to call Tormund since they arrived yesterday.

“Don’t look at me; I’m not,” Talisa says. “I’m taking a nap and hoping that the colder weather will convince my son to stop elbowing my internal organs for a night. You two go out and have fun.” 

“I bet Sansa and Arya would want to come too,” Robb says. “And Daenerys. So _call her.”_

He can tell that Robb isn’t going to leave him alone until he does, so he pulls his phone from his pocket, finding Dany’s number and calling her. Robb smirks triumphantly as it rings, and Jon can’t help but scowl at him. 

It’s not that he _doesn’t_ want to see Dany— quite the opposite, of course.  He’s just scared that she might not want to see _him._

“Hello?” she picks up, and Jon can’t help but smile at the sound of her voice. 

“Hi, Dany,” he says, and his heart thumps at the pleased little hum she makes before she says his name in response. “Everythin’ been alright for you and Missandei?”

“Oh, the hotel is perfect,” she says, and he can picture her smile just from the sound of her voice. “Missandei and I have been more than comfortable. I keep getting distracted from my work, watching the snow fall,” she confesses, and he smiles again. She sounds like a little girl, enchanted with the snow. He can’t wait until they go up in the mountains on Tuesday, if she’s impressed with the views from her hotel room in the city. 

“Is everything alright with you?” she asks, her voice curious. 

“I was wonderin’,” he starts, with a pressing glare from Robb again. “My friend up here owns a pub, right in the city. My siblings and I were going to go tonight after dinner, and I didn’t know if maybe you wanted to come?” His words come out all in a rush, like he’s some green boy with a crush, nervous at the prospect of asking a girl out. Which is _foolish,_ he knows. This isn’t a date. This is just a friendly invitation, for her and Missandei to experience more of the North. “And Missandei, too,” he adds, trying to ignore Robb’s eager grin. Maybe _that’s_ why he feels so flummoxed. 

“It’s alright if you don’t want to,” he adds, before she can speak again. “I know you both probably have a lot of work, but—” 

“I’d love to, Jon,” she says, and his breath catches at how warm her voice sounds, how pleased she seems. “Gods know I’ve done enough work for the weekend. I’m sure Missandei would love to come as well.” She laughs delicately, and Jon’s heart thumps, the sound like sunlight. “Does your friend’s pub offer more Northern food than our hotel’s restaurant does? Because we’ve been dying to try some.” 

“Aye,” he tells her, thinking of the hearty dishes that Tormund’s chef whips up. “Although I’ll warn you now, if you tell Tormund you want to try Northern food, he’s going to try to push some of his wildling ale on you.”

She laughs. “I take it from your tone of voice that I shouldn’t try it?” 

“Not unless you want to vomit right after,” he says. “It’s bloody disgusting. But don’t tell him I said that.” She laughs again, a smile tugging at his lips at the sound. 

He can feel the smirk Robb is directing at him, his two other brothers also eavesdropping on his conversation as well. “I can pick you both up around nine, if that works?” he offers. 

“That sounds great. I’ll see you then, Jon,” she says, before she ends the call. 

All three of his brothers are staring at him when he puts the phone down. Rickon’s shit-eating grin resembles Robb’s so closely that it almost scares him. 

“Shut up,” Jon says, glowering at them. Robb just laughs. 

“You have it _so_ bad, brother,” he chuckles, running a hand through his curls. Jon just shakes his head, looking away from Robb.

“I was on the phone for two minutes,” he retorts. “How could you possibly tell?” 

“Because you sound like a lovesick fool,” Rickon snorts. Robb just laughs. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “Rickon, you want to try to beat me at this game again?” 

Rickon bristles. “I’m not going to _try,_ I _am_ going to beat you.” 

Bran laughs, tossing Jon another controller. “If you say so.” 

Jon lets Rickon win this time, but even at his loss, he can’t help but smile, still thinking of how he’ll get to see Dany again tonight. 

***

Tormund’s is surprisingly busy for a Sunday night. 

Jon shouldn’t be surprised, he supposes. It’s _always_ packed at Tormund’s, regardless of what day it is. He’s never been quite sure if it’s because of the groups of Free Folk who gravitate here, or if it’s simply the superiority of the reasonably priced food and drink, but Jon’s never seen the pub not bursting at the seams with people.

Jon holds the door open so that Daenerys and Missandei can shuffle in behind him, Robb, Arya, and Sansa bringing up the rear. Dany shivers at the cold gust of wind that follows them in before the door swings shut again, and Jon almost has to laugh, his heart thumping at the rosy color of her cheeks, the way she bounces up and down to keep herself warm. She looks adorable in the big white coat he’d helped her pick, the silver curls falling down her back the color of snow in the moonlight. 

He doesn’t ever think he’ll get over how beautiful she is. How utterly, completely gone he is over her.

“It’s crowded,” Sansa says, frowning as she surveys the full tables throughout the pub. 

“It’s always crowded,” Arya reminds her. “Tormund will find a spot for us. He always does when Jon’s here.” 

Dany smirks at that, Robb laughing as well as he sidles up to Jon’s side, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “She’s got a point,” he says as he leans in, voice low. “Does Tormund know he’s got competition for your affections now?” 

“Fuck off,” Jon mutters, elbowing Robb as his brother laughs, seemingly unperturbed by Jon’s sullenness. But then Jon spots the redheaded man in question, the line of people at the bar doing nothing to deter him shoving through the crowd to reach their group.

“Jon Snow!” his voice booms, and Jon laughs as Tormund practically tackles him, crushing him in an embrace. “My little crow.” 

“Hi, Tormund,” Jon responds, clapping his friend on the back before managing to extract himself from his bone-crushing hug. 

“You didn’t tell me you were back here,” he accuses, arching an eyebrow at Jon.

“Just got back yesterday,” he explains. “I was going to call, but we figured showin’ up here instead was just as good.” 

“Aye, I suppose so,” he says, surveying the rest of the group. “Robb, Sansa, Arya. Good to see you lot as well.” His gaze lands on Dany and Missandei, eyes narrowing as he studies them. “I don’t know you two, do I?” 

“No, you don’t,” Jon confirms as Robb shuffles over, Dany coming right up to fill the empty space at his side. He swallows as her hand brushes his, her head turning towards him as she quirks an eyebrow at him, half a smirk playing at her lips. 

“Are you going to introduce us, Jon?” she says, and he wants to laugh at the teasing tone of her voice, the way she makes him feel lighter than he has in _years_ just with a single look from those beautiful blue eyes. 

“Tormund, this is Daenerys, and Missandei,” he says, both women smiling at his friend. “Remember how I told you I was doing that instagram sponsorship thing? Well, Dany is…” He pauses, tilting his head in thought. “In charge of me, I guess. And Missandei works with her. They’re here for a photoshoot I have to be in, later this week.”

“It’s your job to deal with this stubborn bastard?” Tormund says, arching an eyebrow at Dany. She laughs, shrugging.

“Among other things.” Like practically running the damn company, he thinks, but Dany doesn’t seem bothered by Tormund’s simplification of her job. 

“Well, that warrants a drink,” he says, smiling widely. “Come on, you lot, I’ll find you a table.” 

Jon doesn’t think he’s ever waited for a table since Tormund opened this place a few years back, even on the busiest of nights. He has a booth cleared out for them in no time, right against the back wall between the bar and the pool tables. The six of them crowd into the booth, Jon ending up across from Robb and next to Dany, her arm brushing his as they all adjust in their seats. “The usual for everyone?” Tormund asks, Missandei looking up from the menu she’d grabbed from the middle of the table. “You lot want food too?” 

“Yes, please. I’m starving,” Sansa says, Arya nodding next to her. Tormund disappears without another word, leaving them alone at the table, Missandei and Dany peering at the menus curiously. 

“What should we get?” Dany asks, turning to Jon. A lock of hair falls over her shoulder, and it takes all his self restraint not to reach over and tuck it behind her ear.

“Don’t worry about it,” Robb says, leaning back in his seat. “Tormund’ll bring stuff out for us. I don’t think I’ve ever actually ordered here, to be honest.” 

Sure enough, he reappears a few minutes later with drinks for them all, a waiter behind them holding platters of food. Jon’s stomach rumbles at the delicious scent as it’s all placed before them— it’s been _far_ too long since he’s had real Northern food; the places in King’s Landing that claim to serve it are all shit compared to the real thing. 

“That oughta keep you lot satisfied,” Tormund says, clapping Jon on the shoulder. Dany looks at all the food curiously, eyes flitting from dish to dish.

“I’ve never had Northern food before. What do I try first?” she asks, but before Jon can consider, Tormund’s face lights up. 

“I thought you two looked like southerners,” he says, Missandei and Dany just blinking up at him. “I’ve got just the thing for you.” 

“No, Tormund—” Jon says, but it’s too late; Tormund has already disappeared behind the bar. He comes back a moment later with empty glasses and a pitcher, and Jon can tell what it is just from the smell. 

“Wildling ale,” he says proudly. “Much better than that shit stuff they make in the Watch, or what these two are drinkin’.” Tormund slaps Robb on the shoulder, Jon’s brother just laughing. “I have to get back to work. I’ll come back once things quiet down.” He grins at Dany and Missandei, nodding towards the pitcher. “You two enjoy that.” 

“Is this what you warned me about, earlier?” Dany asks, leaning into him. Jon nods, trying not to get distracted by the warmth of her body pressed against his. 

“Aye, it is,” he says. She looks at him, arching an eyebrow teasingly, her eyes full of fire. “It’s not that it’s bad, really, it’s just bloody strong. And it tastes it.” 

“Perfect, pour me a glass,” Robb says, reaching for the pitcher. Sansa throws him a look, eyebrows pinching together.

“Robb, you haven’t drinken in _months,”_ she argues. “If you have a full glass of that you’re going to throw up.” 

“C’mon, Sansa, I don’t think my alcohol tolerance has gone down _that_ much,” he argues, filling up a glass. “I didn’t spend four years of uni binge drinking so that I could get drunk off of _one_ glass of ale.” He takes a sip and makes a face, Jon unable to tell if it’s a smile or a grimace stretching across his lips. “Gods, this stuff is awful.” 

“I feel like I have to try it now,” Dany says with a shrug. Robb laughs, pouring her and Missandei glasses as well. 

“That’s the spirit, Daenerys,” he says. She takes the glass from Robb, eyeing it warily. 

“You don’t have to drink it, you know,” Jon says quietly, leaning in so just Dany can hear him. She turns to face him, arching an eyebrow at him, and Jon’s heart thumps when he realizes how close their faces are right now. It would be all too easy to lean in and capture her full lips with his— if, of course, he wasn’t sitting in a booth surrounded by his siblings, and she actually _wanted_ him to kiss her. 

“Are you saying that I can’t handle my alcohol, Jon Snow?” she says, eyes alight and teasing, and he wants to laugh at how _whole_ she makes him feel. 

“I would never dare,” he says. “I’m just warnin’ you—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Daenerys takes a big gulp of the drink, swallowing it down causally and placing her glass back on the table like it was water she’d just tasted. Jon just blinks, staring at her— he can drink Wilding ale, but not like that. 

“You’re right,” Missandei says, taking a sip of her own drink, grimacing politely. “It’s not bad, just very strong.” Jon shakes his head a little, unable to believe their blasé reaction— the first time Sansa had ever had it, she’s almost vomited, and Arya, who likes her drinks strong, hadn’t stopped complaining about the taste for half an hour afterwards. 

Dany shrugs, taking another long sip. “I sort of like it,” she says, but then she turns to Jon, and he can see the teasing glint in her eyes, growing stronger as she begins to laugh. 

“You’re a good actor, I’ll give you that,” he says, taking a sip of the drink Tormund had brought him before. Winterfell ale— that’s plenty strong for him. Dany beams at him, shrugging unapologetically. 

“One of our best friends from uni is Dothraki,” she explains. “And she insists on bringing Mare’s Milk to every single party we ever attend. Now _that_ is a disgustingly potent drink.” 

Jon chuckles. “I’ve never had it before.” 

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Keep it that way, trust me.” 

He knows that he should probably be paying attention to his siblings and not just focusing on Dany, but he can’t really bring himself enough to care. Sansa has started chatting with Missandei, Robb and Arya arguing amicably over what seems to be his alcohol consumption, leaving Jon and Dany in their own little bubble, bodies pressed together in the booth as she samples the Northern cuisine Tormund had brought out to them. 

They all eat and laugh until the pitcher is almost empty, mostly due to Robb, whose tolerance to alcohol most certainly _has_ taken a hit in the time since Talisa became pregnant. Jon finishes off his glass, mentally debating if drinking the rest of the pitcher is worth not having to get up to go to the bar and leave Dany. 

It is, but Arya grabs it and tops off her drink before he can, so the bar it is. 

“I’ll be right back,” he tells everyone, standing to make his way towards the bar. He finds a gap in the crowd around it, his skin starting to itch a little at the press of bodies around him. But then Tormund comes over, shooing the offending group farther down the bar with a withering look, and the crowd thins, Jon exhaling. 

“Another pitcher?” Tormund asks, waggling his eyebrows. Jon smiles slightly at his friend. 

“No, thanks. I’ll take another pint of ale. Winterfell, though.” 

“Suit yourself,” Tormund grumbles, turning to get Jon a new glass. Something in the corner of his eye makes his heart stop— a flash of red hair, and for a moment, Jon thinks he’s seen a ghost.

“Don’t worry,” Tormund says, and Jon turns back to his friend, heart still racing. “It’s not her.” 

“What—” Jon starts, but Tormund just gives him a look, passing him the pint glass. 

“She doesn’t come in on weekends. Works, I think.” 

Jon relaxes, his heart rate calming knowing that he won’t have to face Ygritte tonight. He’s only seen her once or twice in the four years since their disastrous breakup— and none of those times have gone particularly well. 

“So you still keep up with her?” Jon asks. Even if he doesn’t really want to see her, he always hopes she’s doing well. That her life is better off now than it was when he was in it. 

“Aye. She’s doing alright. She does the same thing, you know,” Tormund says, raising an eyebrow. Jon makes a face. 

“And what’s that?” 

“Pretends she doesn’t care, but asks about you anyways.” 

Jon shrugs. “Just because we ended badly doesn’t mean I don’t want her to be alright.” He sighs. “Besides, it’s my fault, really, so I don’t blame her for hatin’ me.” 

Tormund rolls his eyes. “The only reason she hates you is because at the time, she loved you, and you know that.” 

Jon looks down. At the time, he’d loved her too. It made what he’d had to do even more painful. “Aye, I loved her too. That doesn't mean I didn’t lie to her. Or betray her trust.” 

“You may have lied to her, but then you turned around and did a lot of good for her and her people. At your own risk, too,” Tormund says, looking at Jon knowingly. “You lied to me just the same, and look at us now. So stop hangin’ onto all that guilt, like you always do.” 

“Easier said than done,” Jon mutters. Tormund laughs. 

“You have always had a thing for brooding.” Jon gives him a look, though it’s not necessarily untrue. “That one over there seems to make you look happy though, doesn’t she?” 

Jon’s heart skips a beat, his eyes following Tormund’s gaze and landing on Dany. She’s caught up in conversation with Missandei and his siblings, her hair shining under the pub lights as she laughs. Jon can feel his lips pull up into a little smile just watching her, the effect she has on him taking hold even from this far away. 

“Aye, I don’t think you could look more moonstruck if you tried,” Tormund jokes. Jon makes a face at him again, turning away from Dany. “I haven’t seen you look like that at someone in an age.” 

“I dunno, Tormund, she’s just different,” he admits. The little amount of Wildling ale he _had_ drinken is probably going to his head. “She makes me feel like there’s still hope for me. That maybe I have a chance at being happy.” 

“Good,” Tormund says, clapping him on the shoulder. “After everything you did, and all the shit you went through for it, you deserve to be happy.” 

Jon opens his mouth to respond, but then there’s a small body next to him, Jon jumping a little as Arya elbows her way in between him and the guy at the next seat over. 

“Fucking hell, give me a little warning next time you’re goin’ to sneak up on me,” he says, narrowing his eyes at his sister. “I swear to the gods, you move like a wolf.” 

“Sorry,” Arya says, though she doesn’t look very apologetic as she turns towards the bar. “Tormund, can I have another pint? Put it on Jon’s tab.” 

Tormund grins at her cheekily. “Sure thing, love.” 

“So,” Arya says, eyeing Jon. “Robb wants me to tell you he’s right.” 

“About what?” Jon asks, brow furrowing. Arya just shrugs. 

“Dunno, exactly. Something Daenerys said, I think. He just said ‘tell Jon I’m right, and he’s a fucking idiot.’” 

“Well that was kind of him,” Jon mumbles. “What did Dany say?” His eyes flit back to the table, where she’s talking with his siblings and Missandei still. Sansa says something, and dread suddenly fills his stomach, remembering the conversation he’d had with his sister a few weeks ago. “Gods above, please tell me Sansa’s not interrogating her.” 

“C’mon, Jon, some of us understand subtlety,” Arya says with a roll of her eyes. “I’m still not sure how she hasn’t noticed you staring at her with hearts in your eyes constantly.” Tormund laughs at that, passing Arya her pint. 

“Arya,” Jon says, scowling at her. She just grins wickedly. 

“No, but Sansa _did_ ask her what had changed in her schedule that had sent her up North,” Arya says. Jon raises his eyebrows— he had been curious, but he also hadn’t wanted to pry. Or ask her about work— she spends enough time thinking about it already. 

“She didn’t really seem to have an answer,” Arya says with a shrug, taking a sip of her ale. “And Missandei looked like she was fighting back laughter the whole time Daenerys was trying to answer the question.” 

Jon’s heart suddenly feels light, the realization of what Robb meant hitting him. Maybe Daenerys really _did_ come here for him. And if she did, well— that’s a pretty suggestive piece of evidence in the ‘reciprocating his feelings’ column. 

No wonder Robb feels so smug. 

“Anyways,” Arya says, taking another sip of her ale. “Everyone really likes her. Even Sansa, before you ask.” She eyes him, setting her glass down on the bar. “You should invite her to family dinner Tuesday.” 

Jon raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s _family_ dinner, Arya. She’s not my girlfriend, or anythin’.” 

“Bran’s inviting Meera and Jojen,” Arya protests. “It’s more like family and _friends._ And what better place to confess how hopelessly in love with her you are than in the godswood?” 

“Others take me, I’m not _confessing my love,”_ Jon grumbles. “Are Jojen and Meera really going to be there too?” 

“If I say yes, will you invite her?” Arya asks. “Because if you don’t, I think I will. I really like her.” 

“Alright, fine, I’ll invite her,” Jon relents. Although that means he’s going to have to explain the whole Catelyn thing to her, warn her about his aunt’s particular coldness when it comes to him. 

Still. It’ll be worth it to show her his home, take her through the Godswood, the glass gardens. He’s starting to realize that there’s very little he won’t do to spend more time with Dany. 

“Good,” Arya says, grinning impishly at him. “We’re going to play pool, I think. One of the tables just opened up.” 

“Alright, I’ll meet you over there,” Jon says, Arya taking her glass and snaking through the crowd, back to their booth. 

“You going to show your girl how to play?” Tormund says, reappearing across from Jon and grinning suggestively. Jon just rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not going to be _that_ arsehole, no,” Jon says. “And she’s not my girl.” As much as he may wish otherwise.

Tormund just laughs. “From the way she’s been lookin’ at you all night, I don’t think she’d be complaining.” Jon rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smile, though there’s no denying the _hope_ in his chest at Tormund’s words. Hope that maybe he’s right. 

“My other bartender should be in for her shift in a bit,” Tormund tells him, letting it go. “I’ll come over once I’m free.” 

“Good, you can take Arya down a peg before she gets too cocky,” Jon says, taking the full pint Tormund is offering him before pushing off the bar and making his way to the pool table now occupied by his family, his friend’s roaring laugh echoing behind him. 

Arya is already arranging the balls in the rack when Jon gets back to them, Sansa watching her amusedly. Dany and Missandei are chatting next to the table, and Jon’s about to go over and join them when Robb practically walks into him. 

“Fuck, Jon, I’m sorry,” he says, swaying a little in front of him, and Jon almost laughs. It’s far too early in the night for Robb to be this drunk. 

“Uni-you would kick your ass if he could see you right now, Robb,” Jon jokes, leading his brother over to the wall across from the table, both of them leaning up against it. Robb just hums, shrugging noncommittally.

“If uni-me took one look at Talisa, I think he’d understand,” Robb says. He sighs dramatically. “I’d do anything for that woman. Even stop drinkin’ almost completely for eight months.” 

Jon does laugh at that. “Gods above, it’s been eight months,” Robb says with a shake of his head. “That means in one month, I’ll be a father.” 

Jon nods. “Aye, it does.” 

“And you’ll be a godfather.” He exhales slowly, before his eyes go wide and he turns to Jon. “Oh, shit. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that without Talisa here.” 

Jon shakes his head, Robb’s words just starting to hit him. “Wait, what?” 

“We were going to ask you to be our son’s godfather, at some point this week,” Robb says, Jon’s heart rate picking up. “When we ask you, you have to act surprised. Talisa’ll kill me if she finds out I ruined it.” 

“Really?” Jon says, eyes locking on Robb’s endlessly blue ones. “You want _me_ to be his godfather?” The rest of his sentence goes unsaid— _considering what a fucking disaster I am most of the time—_ but he knows Robb hears what he’s really asking, even if he is a little drunk. 

“Of course we do,” Robb says. Like there’s no question about it. “Jon, you’re my brother. Who else could I possibly want?” 

He’s not sure how to respond to that, how to convey the knot of emotions tangled now in his chest, so he just looks at Robb, mouth hanging open wordlessly. Robb seems to understand— he leans closer, gripping Jon’s shoulder, and all the words left unsaid between them, Jon understands. 

“Seriously, though,” Robb says. “Don’t tell Talisa.” 

Jon just laughs. 

Arya and Sansa start their game of pool, Sansa growing more and more aggravated the longer the game goes on, Missandei watching delightedly from the side. Dany heads back over to the bar at one point, offering to get refills for anyone else who needs them as well. He watches her silver hair through the crowd as she picks her way over to the bar, Tormund immediately coming up to her on the other side of the counter. 

Robb laughs at something, watching their sisters, but all Jon can see is Dany. The way she smiles, how she tosses her hair back over her shoulder, the way she laughs delightedly at something Tormund said. She’s just so enthralling, like a magnetic pull that he’s caught up in, helpless to resist. Not that he’d really want to. 

“You’re starin’,” Robb reprimands, fixing Jon with a look. “By some bloody miracle, she hasn’t noticed you mooning over her. If you want to keep it that way, tone down the heart eyes.” 

“Fuck off,” Jon grumbles, playfully shoving his brother’s shoulder. Robb just laughs, turning back to the pool game as Dany takes her new drink from Tormund, turning around to face them. Regardless of Robb’s words, he does attempt to school his expression into something more neutral, desperately trying to keep her from seeing the lovesick expression he’s sure is plastered across his face. 

He just can’t help it. She’s beautiful, and she’s _here,_ and everything else seems to dull in comparison to her. 

“No more wildling ale?” Jon asks her once she’s finally in front of him again, smiling a little at the pink drink in her glass. Dany rolls her eyes, smirking prettily as she comes to lean up against the wall next to him, their sides almost brushing, his heart leaping into his throat. Robb moves back over to the pool table, leaning against it, but Jon doesn’t even turn his head at his brother’s movement.

“No, I think I’ll stick to vodka from here on out,” she says. 

“Did Tormund give you shit for it?” 

She arches an eyebrow at him. “He was a little disappointed, but he got over it fairly quickly,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. She looks up at him, eyes sparkling. “He was too busy singing your praises, to be honest.” 

Jon almost snorts in laughter. “What?” 

Dany shrugs, her tone casual as she continues. “He kept going on about what a good man you are, even underneath the broody exterior.” She smiles at him, and it makes Jon’s heart almost stop. “He seems very smitten with you, to be honest.” 

He huffs in laughter at that, relieved that Dany doesn’t seem weirded out by Tormund’s obvious sales pitch. 

“How do you know him?” Dany asks curiously, tilting her head so that she can meet his eyes. “He said something about the ale at the Wall, didn’t he? Did you both serve in the Night’s Watch together?” 

Ice pricks in his chest, thinking back to how he and Tormund met. “Ah, not exactly,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “I met him when I was in the Watch, but he wasn’t servin’. He’s Free Folk.” 

“Really?” she says, head cocking adorably to the side. She takes another sip of her drink, looking up at him. “How did you meet him, then? I’m assuming you were sent out beyond the Wall?” 

“I was,” he says. Jon doesn’t particularly like talking about his time in the Watch, but Dany looks so _curious_ that he can’t help but give in, willing to relive some of his past for her. And besides— while the end of his term is something he hates discussing, there are parts of his service that he’s proud of. Changes he’d helped put in place that he truly believes helped people.

“I’m assumin’ you heard about the riots at the Wall a few years back,” he says. Dany nods, her eyes trained right on him. “The Free Folk have always been looked down upon, especially in the North. Villanized, as well. They’d never tried to go south of the Wall before in large groups, save for a few riots here and there over the past hundred years.” He pauses, taking a sip of his drink. “But about a year after I joined the Watch, they started increasing. More and more bases along the Wall were attacked. We ranged north to try to figure out why, but came up with nothin’. So they sent some of us undercover, to live with them, figure out the cause, and bring back intel.” 

“And I take it you were one of them,” Dany says. 

“Aye, I was,” he confirms. He meets her eyes again, his heart thumping at what he sees in the endless blue— pure curiosity. Like everything he reveals about his past is endlessly interesting to her. 

“That’s how I met Tormund. He took me in right away, looked out for me. I was… gods, twenty two, I think? Still didn’t have a fuckin’ clue about the world.”  Dany laughs, and he can’t help but chuckle too. 

Still, as green as he may have been, that part had worked out well for him. Tormund was high up and had given him more than enough information to feed back to the Watch. He’d liked him from the start, even if he felt guilty for spying on him, practically. But then he’d met Ygritte, and… well. Falling in love had never been part of his plan. 

“How long were you there?” Dany asks. He looks down at her again, regaining a sense of clarity, past memories pushed back where they belong. 

“A little over a year,” he tells her. “I did my duty, reported back to my Lord Commander. But still, in that time…” Jon drifts off for a moment, trying to think of how to phrase it, taking a sip of his drink while he formulates the words. “You know when you’re so young, but you don’t _feel_ young at all? You feel like you have everythin’ figured out, like you know it all, and then somethin’ happens and you realize what a bloody fool you are?” 

Dany laughs, nodding. “Absolutely.” 

“Livin’ with Tormund and the rest of them was like that. Everything I thought I knew about the Free Folk, everything that I’d heard since I was a boy, it was all dead wrong. Uncivilized, monstrous, violent— none of it was right. It’s harsher beyond the Wall, it’s true. People are harsher because they have to be. But besides that, they’re no different from the rest of us. They were just born on the wrong side of the Wall.” 

Dany looks up at him, eyes still fixed on his, brimming with curiosity, so he continues. “We found out why the riots were pickin’ up all of a sudden. Why the Free Folk were trying to get south of the Wall.” He pauses, taking another sip. “Turns out that the planet gettin’ warmer doesn’t just melt the ice caps. Fewer ice caps means fewer animals, and with the way our oceans are already overfished, food is scarce up North. If it weren’t for the Reach, people in Winterfell would go hungry in the winters. Westeros doesn’t trade anything with the Free Folk. They’re on their own, and their food supplies were runnin’ out. They were all starvin’ to death, practically.” 

“Wow,” Dany says, her eyes wide. “They left all of that out on the news.” 

Jon snorts. “Of course. Because the government in this country is really run by the corporations who are heatin’ the planet up in the first place.” He shrugs. “Regardless, the Night’s Watch raised it as an issue. After I was called back— Tormund was _not_ happy to learn I’d been lying to him for a year, for the record— I worked with our Lord Commander to bring it to the government as an issue of national security. Took a while, but we got permission to let the Free Folk through the Wall, and set up a system of trade for those that didn’t want to, or couldn’t, leave.” He glances back at Dany, his heart thumping at the look on her face— she seems thunderstruck. 

“That was _you?”_ she says, brows raising. “All those laws passed a few years ago, that was because of you?” 

“Not all me,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I had a lot of help. There were other people undercover as well. We talked with the Free Folk, had a lot of negotiations between them and us. And my Lord Commander did most of the dealing with the government.” 

“Still,” she says, shaking her head. “Jon, that’s… that’s absolutely incredible.” 

He just shrugs at her praise. He’s immensely proud of what he’d done, but the way Dany’s looking at him, like some hero from a fairytale right before her— it’s almost too much. 

“That’s how I know Tormund, anyway,” he finishes. “Took a little while for him to forgive me afterwards for lyin’. Me pushing so much for the Free Folk to be let through certainly helped. He made peace so we could negotiate.” He shrugs. “I don’t think we would have done it without him.” 

Dany smiles. “I’m glad you’ve made peace,” she says, finishing off her drink, setting the glass on an empty table. “So what did you do after? You said you served for five years, right? Was your tour up once you finished negotiations?” 

Jon’s heart thunders to a stop, dread filling his stomach. “Not exactly,” he says, his hand clenching around the pint glass he’s holding, ice spreading through his veins, making it harder for his lungs to expand, his heart to beat. He looks down, squeezing his eyes closed. Maybe it’s the drinks that’s making the memories more potent, but he’s trapped in the past like he hasn’t been in weeks and weeks, that feeling of cold terror taking hold of his chest and growing. 

But then he feels Dany’s hand on his arm, the warmth of her touch banishing the sharp cold from consuming him.

“Jon,” she says, her voice gentle, full of concern. “Are you okay?” 

He opens his eyes, looking over to meet her gaze, and the amount of care in hers is startling. It makes his heart stutter, but not in the same way that the mention of the end of his time in the Watch did. 

“Aye,” he says, but his voice is still strained. She steps closer, leaning into him, her body practically pressed up against his side. 

“Sorry,” Jon says, looking at her again. “It’s, uh… not exactly a pleasant story.” 

“Oh,” she says, voice small, and it kills him how much guilt is in that one singular word. “I’m sorry—”

“No, Dany,” he says, taking her hand in his before he can even think. But she doesn’t pull away— instead, she twines her fingers with his, and it gives him clarity, makes him feel more at peace. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know.” 

“Still,” she says, eyes fixed on his. “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.” But there’s something in the blue of her eyes, something that makes him just want to open up, tell her every awful detail of his past, lay it all out for her to see. It’s sort of terrifying, that desire to let her in. 

It makes him almost laugh, thinking back to where they were two months ago— at each other’s throats over his social media posts, when Dany held nothing but cold professionalism and disdain in her eyes when she looked at him. And now, here they are, in a bar up North during a trip that she may have made just for _him,_ fingers tangled together and the pain in his heart assuaged by just the feel of her hand in his. 

“It’s alright,” he says, shaking his head. He’s not about to divulge every single detail of that story to her— he’s not quite drunk enough for that— but he can tell her some of it. It’s terrifying just thinking of it, but still— there’s something about her eyes as she looks at him, something in the deep, vast blue that tells him she wants to know as much about him as she can, whether it’s a pretty tale or the exact opposite. He understands that feeling all too well; every time he learns something new about her, all he wants is to know more. 

There’s that glimmer of hope in him still that believes that maybe she could feel the same for him as he feels for her. That Robb and Arya are right, and that she’s here because of him. He remembers what Margaery had said that day at the office, about how Dany is much more guarded than she lets on. How can he ever expect her to let him in, truly, if he won’t do the same, regardless of how painful it is? 

He doesn’t know how she’ll react, honestly. She could be angry or disgusted and want nothing to do with him. Giving her a glimpse into his past, into everything that’s happened to him, to how much of a mess he really is— it could scare her away. But if there’s _ever_ a chance that she could return his feelings and they could be together, she would have to know first. 

So he squeezes her hand, and takes a leap of faith. 

“There were protests after the Free Folk were let through the wall. Riots again, though this time from people in Westeros.” He exhales, eyes shutting tight, trying to keep a grip on the memories. Not let them control him for once. 

“There was an accident, one night,” he says. “Rioters got into the base. We were swamped; it was a mess. I was injured.” He can feel the stroke of her fingers up and down his forearm, the warmth of her body pressed against his grounding him, chasing away the ice threatening to consume him whole, freeze his chest solid. “I was honorably discharged after that. Never finished the end of my tour.” 

He chances a look over at her, her eyes startlingly bright, her lip captured between her teeth. “Is that why you don’t like crowds?” she asks gently, fingers still twined with his, her thumb stroking patterns on the back of his hand. He just nods wordlessly. “I had wondered, after the Kingswood,” she explains. Her eyes lock on his again, and her expression is unreadable, his heart pounding as he keeps her gaze, half terrified of what she might say. 

“What?” he asks, and she just shakes her head slightly, the corners of her mouth ticking up into a slight smile. 

“I just didn’t realize how strong you are,” she says, ducking her head. Jon wants to laugh at that, a smile playing at his lips, the rest of the icy feeling that had lingered from reliving his time in the Watch finally disappearing. 

“I’m not,” he argues, but Dany shakes her head resolutely. 

“You are,” she insists. “Even if you don’t see it.” 

He’s not sure what to say to that— his mouth opens as if to speak, but the words get caught, not fully formulated in his mind. Part of him wants to cry in relief that she hadn’t turned away from him, bask in the look in her eyes right now— like he’s strong, and brave, and not completely falling apart. The unwavering belief in her voice, like somehow what he went through made him _better,_ not some empty shell of the man he was before… the determination in her eyes as she looks up at him through her lashes makes him almost believe her, just for a moment.

He just stands there for another moment, words caught in his throat and eyes locked on hers. For one singular moment, he’s overcome with the impulsive need to swoop down and kiss her, pull her into his arms and show her how grateful he is for the lack of judgement in her words. For the amount of light shining in her eyes as she looks at him.

Luckily, he’s saved by the sound of his brother’s voice from over by the pool table before he can do anything _truly_ stupid.

“Daenerys!” Robb calls, his tongue tripping a little over the syllables. Gods above, he’s _completely_ hammered, Jon can already tell, and Tormund is right to his side, offering him another drink. 

“You still want to play pool?” he asks, and Jon can’t help but snicker, watching his brother lean up against the table. Arya rolls her eyes at him affectionately, still setting the balls up in the rack. 

“I do, but I don’t really know how,” she says, grimacing apologetically. Tormund laughs, handing off the new drink to Robb, who immediately takes a big gulp. 

“Jon’s the best at pool out of all of us. We can play teams, and he can help you.” Tormund looks at him eagerly, his eyebrows waggling tellingly, and Jon has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at his friend’s _obvious_ idea. 

Dany looks back to him, though, her eyes hopeful. “If you want,” she says, and he nods immediately. There are much worse ways to spend a Sunday night than teaching Daenerys Targaryen to play pool. 

He explains the basics of the game to her as Arya finishes setting it up, before she hands them cues and retreats back to the high top just to the side, where Sansa and Missandei are deep in conversation, both women laughing. “Honestly, Robb’s so shitfaced right now you could probably take him by yourself,” Jon whispers to Dany, and she laughs delightedly, the sound so full of warmth that Jon feels his heart may burst with the abundance of affection thrumming in it. 

Robb may be useless, but Tormund is still very skilled at pool and is _much_ less intoxicated, so they do actually have their work cut out for them. Jon goes first to show Dany how to hold the cue and take aim, and they’re already winning a bit by the time it’s their turn again. 

“Alright, how do I hold this?” Dany asks, taking the cue from where she’d leaned it against the table. Jon demonstrates again, but her hands aren’t _quite_ right, her arm at an awkward angle as it holds the cue. 

“Ah,” he says, fingers gripping the edge of the table, steadfastly ignoring Tormund’s knowing looks and Robb’s maniac grin. “D’you mind if—?” 

“No, not at all,” she says, and he steps closer, wrapping his arms around her loosely as he adjusts her hold on the cue, rearranges her arms. 

Gods, the warmth of her body pressed against his whole front is too much. He can smell her hair, like lemon and spice, can feel her inhale as she leans back into him more, his pulse jumping as his fingers cover hers, move her hand to the right position. 

“Alright,” he says, heart pounding as she turns her head towards him, their noses practically brushing. “Now line up where you want to hit the cue ball so that you can sink the seven ball in the pocket.” 

“Right there, right?” she says, extending the cue. He nods, fingers brushing against her hip as she moves the cue back, preparing to hit the ball, and it’s enough to make his pulse jump again, heat simmering inside him at holding Dany so close. He can think of much more enjoyable ways to have her wrapped up in his arms— preferably in his bed, with much less clothing in between them and none of his siblings watching— but then she hits the ball, sinking the seven in the pocket, and her squeal of delight is enough to make him push those thoughts from his mind, both of them straightening up as Robb and Tormund groan. 

“I did it!” she says, eyes shining as she turns to him, and Jon can’t fight back to smile that overtakes his face. 

“Aye, you did,” he says with a nod, and the light of her smile is enough for him to get lost in. 

They end up winning, but only because Robb scratches on the eight ball, much to Tormund’s dismay. The bar has emptied out considerably by then, the time nearing one in the morning. 

“We should be going,” Jon says regrettably, not really wanting to leave Dany. But Robb seems like he’s about five minutes from falling over, and Sansa and Missandei are looking particularly sleepy, empty glasses of wine in front of both of them. 

“Good to see you again, Snow,” Tormund says, clapping Jon on the back. “You best come visit again before you go back down South.” He lowers his voice, arching an eyebrow at Jon before glancing pointedly at Dany. “And don’t let that one get away. I like her.”

“I’ll try my best,” he says, and Tormund grins. 

“Alright, lad,” he says to Robb, looping an arm around him. Jon comes to take his brother’s other side, the two of them leading him towards the door. “C’mon, let’s get you to the car.” 

Dany and Missandei bid them all goodbye when they reach their hotel, Dany’s soft smile playing on repeat in his mind for the rest of the drive back to the Stark house. Arya helps Jon wrangle Robb inside once they’re finally home, and he miraculously makes it up the stairs to his and Talisa’s room without falling over once. 

“Love,” he coos when they finally reach their destination, Talisa smirking at her husband in the doorway. Jon can’t help but laugh as well. 

“Hi, Robb,” she says, fighting back laughter at how _utterly_ wasted he is. “You had fun, I see.” 

“Mm,” Robb hums, dipping forward to kiss her cheek. “I missed you, though. Gods, look at you. You’re so beautiful. How’re you so beautiful?” 

“It’s certainly not the baby I’m eight months pregnant with,” she says dryly, though there’s a smile on her lips. “Come on, love, let’s get you to bed.” 

“Here,” Jon says, helping his brother into their bedroom, sitting him down on the bed so he can take Robb’s shoes off for him. His brother yawns, pulling his shirt over his head and shoving his pants off before he flops back on the pillows, eyes closing immediately. 

“He’s going to need this, I think,” Talisa says, appearing at Jon’s side holding a bottle of ibuprofen. “How much did he have to drink?” 

“I think you’d laugh if I told you,” Jon says with a smirk. “Tormund brought out the wildling ale. That was his downfall.” 

“Ah, it’s always the wildling ale,” Talisa says, patting Robb fondly on the shoulder. “Sit up love, you have to take this before you fall asleep.” Robb’s face is adorably scrunched in protest as Jon helps sit him up, and it takes all his willpower not to laugh right in his face. The second he’s swallowed the pills, he flops back down on the pillows, eyes closing serenely. Grey Wind appears from the shadows, hopping up on the foot of the bed and curling up across the bottom of Robb’s legs. 

“Thanks for getting him back safely, Jon,” Talisa says, turning towards him once again. “I appreciate it, truly.” 

“Of course,” he says. “And if he starts throwin’ up in the middle of the night, you call for me, and I’ll deal with him. You deserve all the sleep you can get.” 

She snorts in laughter. “That’s not much, with this one moving around constantly,” she says, patting her belly. That reminds him of what else Robb had said in the bar— and even though he knows he’s not supposed to say anything, he can’t help but hug Talisa tightly, hoping that his appreciation for how much they care for him is conveyed. She hugs him back as well, laughing as he pulls away, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

“He told you, didn’t he?” she says, and Jon would play dumb, but she just rolls her eyes in amusement, seeming to already know the truth. “I knew he would,” she says, looking back down at her husband. “He’s shit at keeping secrets when he’s drunk.” 

“Aye, he did,” Jon says, shrugging apologetically. “It means a lot to me, you two pickin’ me to be his godfather.” 

“There’s no one else we would even consider,” she says, resting a hand on his arm. Robb grumbles something incoherent, both of them turning to look at him, Talisa biting back laughter again. 

“I’m going to try to get some sleep,” she says, facing Jon again. “You should as well.” 

“I will,” he says, nodding. “‘Night, Talisa.” 

She offers him one last smile before turning towards her husband again. “Goodnight, Jon.” 

Ghost is waiting for him on his bed in his own room, tail thumping against the duvet as soon as Jon enters the room. “Hey, boy,” Jon says, sitting down on the bed, Ghost wriggling into his lap happily, turning over for belly rubs, to which Jon obliges happily. “You waited up for me, huh?” 

Ghost doesn’t answer, obviously, but his tail does continue beating against Jon’s leg, his dog licking happily at his face once he stands up again. Jon ruffles his ears before he goes to wash up in the bathroom, returning a moment later and throwing back the covers, climbing into bed. Ghost immediately sidles up next to him, flopping down almost on top of him in the much smaller bed. 

He falls asleep not much later, Ghost’s head on his chest and a certain lightness in his heart. 

***

Tuesday dawns bright and cold, Dany scrolling through the weather forecast as she pulls on all the layers of warm clothing Jon had helped her purchase. Yesterday had been very lowkey— Missandei and she had taken over a corner of the lounge downstairs in their hotel, turning it into a pseudo office so that they could work all day— but today begins the photoshoots. She’s not sure if she’s more excited or anxious for an entire day spent out in the bitter cold; photoshoots are always long, grueling days, and this one will also be freezing, she’s sure. But part of her can’t wait to see the mountains, the snowy forests, the landscapes that look right out of a movie. And Jon. A large part of her can’t wait to see him. 

He had offered to pick the two of them up and drive to the location, so they wouldn’t have to navigate the snowy mountain roads in a rental car, and she and Missandei had gladly accepted. They could have caught a ride with someone else from the crew, but Dany is quickly finding that she much prefers being shown the North by Jon. 

“I feel like a penguin,” Missandei complains, practically waddling over to Dany in all her warm clothes. “And I’m sweating already.” 

“I know,” Dany says, tucking her braid over her shoulder. Missandei had helped her tie it all back this morning so that it would stay out of her face and fit under her warm knit hat. “But judging by the forecast for where we’re going, I think we’ll be glad we have so many layers when we get there.” 

“I know,” Missandei says, picking up her gloves and hat from where she’d left them on the bed. “Still. The next time you volunteer us for a photoshoot, perhaps consider one that takes place in Dorne? Or Highgarden?” 

Dany can’t help but laugh at her friend’s teasing smile. 

Jon is already waiting for them when they make it downstairs, leaning against the side of his car. He looks up as they step outside, opening his mouth to say something once he catches sight of them, but whatever it is is drowned out by loud barking, Ghost’s head appearing through the open back window, his whole body wriggling with excitement. 

“Quiet, boy,” Jon says, turning to pet Ghost’s head, trying to soothe his dog. “It’s early, people are still sleepin’.” But Ghost doesn’t seem to care— he whines, pawing at the window like he’s trying to climb out of the car, his dark red eyes fixed right on Dany. 

Jon follows Ghost’s line of sight with his own eyes, grinning slightly when his meet hers. “I think he missed you,” he offers, and Dany can’t help but smile back, closing the distance between her and the car so she can scratch behind Ghost’s ears. He calms down the minute her fingers are buried in his soft fur, eyes closing as he basks in the attention. 

“I missed you too, Ghost,” she says, finding that she truly means it. This sweet dog has completely wormed his way into her heart, just as his owner has. Ghost, like he can read her thoughts, leans out the window further, licking at Dany’s cheek happily. 

“Alright,” Jon says, reaching out to shove Ghost back inside the car, much to his displeasure. “C’mon, you, get inside. We need to get going.” He turns to Dany and Missandei again, hands shoved in his pockets. “Does one of you mind sitting in the back with him? He’s really good on long car rides, so he’ll probably just fall asleep in a few minutes. He hopefully won’t bother you.” 

“I don’t mind,” Missandei says brightly. “Dany, you take the front. Ghost and I will take the back.” 

“If you’re sure,” Dany says, but Missandei just winks at her, walking around to the other side of the car to get in. Dany’s cheeks flush a little, but Jon, luckily, doesn’t see. 

Ghost does indeed curl up and nap once they’re on the highway, the landscape growing whiter and whiter the farther they go. “They’ve had snow up here for a while now,” Jon says, Dany’s eyes fixed on the pine trees of the Wolfswood around them, branches heavy with white powder. “We’ve only had a little in Winterfell, but the farther up North you get, the earlier winter begins. Once you get up to Queenscrown and the bases along the Wall, there’s always at least a few inches of snow on the ground.”

“Wow,” Dany says, thinking of living in a place that was always cold, always covered in snow. “I can’t imagine how people can deal with the cold like this all year.” 

Jon smiles a little, turning to look at her. “I’m sure a lot of people up here would wonder how you deal with the heat of King’s Landing all year.” 

She pauses, studying him with narrowed eyes, but he can tell she’s joking, from the way his lips quirk up. “You make a fair point, I suppose,” she concedes, and he just chuckles. 

There’s a pause, silence filling the car, the only sound the tires upon the salted pavement, the warm air blowing from the vents. “I meant to ask you,” Jon says, and Dany looks over at him to find his eyes fixed on the road, hands clutching the steering wheel. He looks almost _nervous,_ she thinks. It’s a look she’s seen on him very seldomly. 

“My family’s having a big dinner tonight, since everyone’s home. I didn’t know if maybe you and Missandei would want to come? My Aunt Catelyn is an amazing cook, and Bran’s inviting some of his friends too, so…” He trails off, but Dany is so startled by the proposal that she doesn’t say anything. 

Inviting her out to a bar, picking her up from an airport— that’s one thing. But inviting her to dinner at his _home,_ with his family… that’s not exactly something that just colleagues do. This feels like significantly _more._

But even then, she had enjoyed herself immensely with all of Jon’s siblings the other night at Tormund’s. They’re all kind and gracious and funny, and had been more than welcoming to her. The prospect of seeing them again as well makes Jon’s offer even more enticing. And there is a niggling part of her that is beyond curious, and wants to see where Jon grew up. 

“I know it’s last minute, and I’m sure you both have work to do—” Jon says, and Dany realizes with a start he’s still talking. Guilt floods her immediately at remaining silent for so long, for letting him think she’s been trying to come up with a way to politely decline his offer. Because Jon Snow is beyond fascinating to her, and she has a feeling that he doesn’t typically let people into his life so easily. So she will gladly take any opportunity given to learn more about him. 

“I would love to,” she says, and Jon stops, exhaling shortly. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but she can see the relief that floods his eyes as he turns to meet hers briefly. “Missandei, what do you think?” she asks, turning towards the back seat. Missandei looks up from her phone, wincing. 

“I can’t,” she says apologetically. “I have a conference call this evening with Margaery and the marketing team I can’t miss. Some of the things I took over from you for the Get Out There event, Daenerys.” 

“Oh,” Dany says, frowning. “It can’t be moved?” 

Missandei shakes her head. “No, unfortunately. You know what Margaery’s schedule is like. But you go, and have fun. Bring me leftovers, if there are any,” she says, smiling brightly. 

“Aye, there’s always too much food left over,” Jon says. “I’ll make sure to send Dany back with some.” 

“Perfect,” Missandei says, and before Dany can turn back to face front again, her friend winks at her. Dany’s heart stutters, because just the look on Missandei’s face lets her know that she, too, thinks this is more than just some simple dinner invite. And regardless of whether or not she really has work to do, she wants Dany to have this moment with Jon by herself. 

Half of her wants to jump with excitement, and the other half just wants to curl up in terror at the prospect. The last time she was ever close enough with a man to meet his _family—_ that was a long, long, time ago, and that relationship ended catastrophically, with her heart and trust in absolute tatters.

 _You’ve already met most of his family, though,_ she reminds herself. _You’ve met nearly all of his siblings. And they’re bringing friends as well. Maybe this isn’t as monumental as you think._

Even so, she remembers the look on his face as he’d recounted his time in the Watch to her on Sunday night— the darkness that had filled his eyes, the shadows that had danced across his face. That had been a hard, painful thing for him to do, and he’d done it anyways, because she’d asked. He’d let her in, revealed something about himself that he clearly didn’t like reliving. Having dinner at his house might be a big step for her, but him telling her everything he had on Sunday had been a big step for him. 

She can take that leap, and meet him halfway here. 

Dany tries to push her ingrained insecurities from her mind, focus instead on the day ahead of them first— they have an entire photoshoot to get through before any dinners can happen. Ghost, as if sensing her mental battle, sits up from where he’s been curled up in the backseat, his front paws on the middle console as he pushes his body into the front seat, nosing at Dany’s cheek. 

“Ghost, what in the seven hells are you doing?” Jon says, huffing in exasperation, but Dany just laughs, all her fears instantly soothed when she sinks her fingers into his thick coat. Ghost’s eyes close happily, his tongue lolling as he leans into Dany, letting her circle his front half with her arms, hands carding through his fur. 

“Looking for attention,” she says with a laugh, although secretly, she thinks Ghost is probably trying to assuage her fears, like she’s seen him do with Jon before. Generally she is much more partial to cats, but Ghost— there’s something about this dog that is just special. 

Dany looks over to Jon, that little smile tugging at his lips as he watches the road ahead of them, and she can’t help but think there’s something special about _him_ as well. 

Eventually the highway winds out of the Wolfwood, and Dany’s eyes widen as they begin their trek into the mountains. It looks like something out of a fairytale— she and Missandei _ooh_ and _ahh_ over the snowy mountain peaks, the sloping landscape on either side of them blanketed in white. It doesn’t take long after they’re out of the woods to reach the site of the shoot; they come to a clearing at the bottom of a hiking trail that has been half taken over by Tyrell, littered with trailers and camera equipment, hordes of people milling around in warm winter clothing. 

“Ghost and I come and hike this trail a lot in the winter, but I’ve never seen this lot so busy before,” Jon says, amused, as he pulls into a spot and puts the car in park. They all climb out of the car, the freezing air immediately sending a chill through her. Based on Missandei’s look of discomfort, the same just happened to her as well. 

Once they’re at the site, it’s easy to slip back into working mode. Dany hasn’t worked a photoshoot directly in a while, but they’re always a whirlwind of activity, a never ending stream of things to be done. 

“Alright,” Missandei says, scrolling through her phone, morphing into Perfect Assistant Mode. “Daenerys, I forwarded you the call sheet, right? Jon, they want you in makeup in the next ten minutes.” 

“You did forward it to me,” Dany says, checking her email to make sure. She looks up at Jon, who has pulled a face, twisting the end of Ghost’s leash around his hand. 

“Makeup?” he says, but Missandei just smiles. 

“Not much, don’t worry,” she says. “Nothing crazy. I’ll take you to the trailer, it’s this way.” She looks up at Dany, Jon’s fears still only seeming to be partially assuaged. “Daenerys, the other talent probably needs your attention. They’re in the main trailer while the photographers set up.” 

“Good luck,” she whispers to Jon as Missandei whisks him off to hair and makeup, giving Ghost one last pat before she too hurries off to check in with all her other charges.

The rest of the talent slotted for today— there are sessions tomorrow and Thursday as well— are mostly in the trailer, just the few who have later call times missing or still in hair and makeup. Wylla Manderly seems slightly off put that she hadn’t been flown into the shoot in a helicopter, but Dany doesn’t have time to deal with movie star drama now. She makes sure everyone has their PAs and her contact info, knows what time they’ll be needed where, and bids them farewell, leaving the heat of the main trailer to traipse back through the snow. They have three different photographers here today, seeing as this is the day with the most brand ambassadors being shot, and Jon is in the first batch. 

Missandei is waiting outside the makeup trailer when Dany gets back to it, talking with a group of the PAs, a few of them scattering off to carry out whatever tasks she’d set upon them. “Hey,” Missandei says when she catches sight of Dany, the rest of the PAs dispersing. “I think we’re all ready to begin soon. Jon, Wylla Manderly, and Robin Arryn are all up in the first session. They just moved Jon over to wardrobe,” she says, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the trailer across from the hair and makeup one. Missandei grins, waving her tablet at Dany. “And Margaery gave me the Tyrell instagram login, so I’ll be running their story all day.” 

Dany laughs. “Better you than Jon, I suppose.” She smiles secretly. “Don’t tell him. He’s so proud of how far he’s come, but he’s still fucking _awful_ at posting stories.” 

“I wouldn’t dare,” Missandei says, spreading her hands. The breeze picks up then, though, and she’s soon wrapped her arms around her, fighting off the cold. 

“We have a whole day of this, don’t we?” Missandei asks, shivering. Dany would laugh at the miserable expression on her friend’s face at the rhetorical question, but she feels the same exact way. 

“And then half days tomorrow and the day after,” she adds. Missandei pouts, bouncing up and down to ward off the chill. 

She hears a chuckle from behind her, the deep, throaty noise making her heart stutter, and she turns to see Jon in the doorway of the trailer, Ghost right at his side. Her mind goes blank for a moment, unable to register anything other than how _good_ Jon looks. 

They’d put him in tight, dark jeans, cuffed over one of the new pairs of hiking boots from the winter line. His hair is pulled back, like usual, but his curls look shinier, even softer than they typically do. And he has on a black winter parka, the hint of one of their new thick knit scarves just peeking out from the collar. 

She’s sure she’s gawking at him like a starstruck fan in front of a movie star, so Dany is beyond grateful when Ghost bounds out in front of him, pawing through the thick layer of snow on the ground. “Stop it, Ghost,” Jon reprimands, but his dog doesn’t listen, instead flopping over onto his back and rolling around in the fluffy powder, burrowing his nose in it in what appears to maybe be an attempt to create doggy snow angels. _“Ghost,”_ Jon says, voice more stern this time, and Ghost does pause, though he remains lying in the snow. 

“I brushed you before we came here,” Jon says, almost exasperated. “Now you’ve gone and ruined all my hard work.” 

Missandei smiles, looking up from her tablet. “Don’t worry, we have a groomer on hand. We can have him freshened up before the shoot starts.” 

“Which is in a few minutes,” Dany says, glancing at the time on the call sheet. 

“Who’s with who?” Missandei asks, looking up from her tablet. “There are enough people from the team to cover all the photographers, right?”

“Yes, there are,” she says, nodding. “Rhakaro and Jorah are here too. Have Jorah take Wylla; he’s dealt with her before.” 

“Perfect,” she says, typing away rapidly— they’d both invested in a pair of touch screen gloves, which have proved themselves useful numerous times over already during this trip. “And then I’ll send Rhakaro with Robin and you with Jon and Ghost.” She looks up at Dany expectantly, only a slight glimmer of mischief in her eye. “Sound alright?” 

“Perfect,” Dany says, trying not to think what a battle it will be not to ogle Jon’s arse in those tight jeans for the entire shoot. 

She’s not allowed to think about him like that, she’s told herself. Those are scary, dangerous waters that she does not want to navigate at the moment. 

“I’ll go between all three, make sure everyone is all set,” Missandei says. “And if there’s any question on approving shots, I’ll text you.” 

“I’ll keep my phone on volume,” she says with a nod, before turning to her charge for the rest of the morning. “Jon, you ready to go?” 

“I suppose so,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the slightest hint of nerves flitting across his face. 

“Don’t worry,” Dany says, gesturing for him to follow her over to one of the shoot spots, where teams have already set up all the required equipment. “I’ll be with you the whole time. And so will Ghost.” 

“I’ll try to channel his photogeneity,” Jon says, and Dany tries, and fails, to bite back a smile at that, unsure if he’s serious or joking. 

The groomer is waiting for them with the photographer, the rest of the crew hurrying around to adjust equipment, make sure everything is functioning in the cold. Dany can see the overwhelmed look in Jon’s eye, and without thinking, she reaches over to squeeze his arm, trying her best to soothe him. 

“Hello, boy,” the groomer says, kneeling down and beckoning to Ghost, and Jon turns his attention away from her and to his dog as Ghost pads over to the woman hesitantly, nosing at her hand. She laughs, scratching his ears. “Looks like you had quite a fun roll in the snow.” 

“Sorry,” Jon says apologetically. “It’s the first time I’ve taken him up in the mountains this season. He loves the snow.” 

“Quite alright,” the woman assures him, already setting to brushing Ghost’s coat, making it gleam. “That’s why I’m here.” 

Dany busies herself with introducing herself to the photographer, leaving Jon to watch over her dog. “Hello,” she says to the man, offering her hand. “I’m Daenerys, in charge of PR. Thank you for coming out here today, especially in the cold.” 

“My pleasure,” he says, shaking her hand. “I always enjoy doing shoots for Tyrell. I’m Dontos, by the way.” His eyes dart over to Jon, seizing him and his dog up. 

“Jon, is it?” the photographer says, both of them turning towards him. 

“Aye, that’s right,” he says, taking a step closer to shake the man’s outstretched hand. 

“Dontos Hollard,” he introduces himself. “Good to meet you.” He looks between the two of them. “What are we looking for from this?” 

Dany pulls open her email on her phone, scrolling through the numerous messages she’d been copied on. “Mostly just posed shots of him in the apparel from the new line,” Dany relays. “We have some items from the line we’ll bring in and pose him with, but not really any action shots; we’re saving that for most of the athletes tomorrow. And Ghost will be in all of them, of course.” She looks at Dontos, who nods along at her words. “If we could get some shots that look like they’re actively hiking or camping, that would be the extent of the action shots.” 

“Sounds good,” Dontos says. He nods at Ghost. “How is he with a camera pointed in his face?” 

Jon laughs hollowly. “Better than me. He’s used to it, at least. I’m generally on the other side of the lens.” Ghost turns his head towards Jon, tilting it adorably, as if he’s agreeing with his master. “I have lots of treats for him if we need to distract him, but he’s pretty good at just listenin’ to what I say. That’s how I get most of the shots for his instagram.” 

“Alright then,” Dontos says with a nod. “Let’s get started then, shall we?” 

The place they’ve chosen for the shoot is beautiful— in the shadow of the mountains, they don’t have any direct sunlight to battle, and the grey stone and untouched snow makes the clearing look like it was made to be used as a backdrop. A sparse group of pines dot the edge of the clearing, the path that winds through them clearly shoveled at one point before getting snowed over again, covered in a shallower blanket of sparkling powder. 

“Okay, Jon,” Dontos says, the groomer handing Ghost’s leash back over. “Let’s start with some basic shots.” 

It becomes apparently clear that Jon truly never is on the other side of the camera— he looks supremely uncomfortable, alternating between squinting at the camera or peering down at his dog. It would almost be better if he was straight up brooding, Dany thinks; at least then he looks beyond attractive, his dark brow furrowed and his beautiful lips set in a hard line. 

“Jon, look at me, please,” Dontos says, a little bit of exasperation bleeding into his tone. That does nothing but make Jon more distressed, though, glancing helplessly over at her, like she’s his last lifeline. 

“Right over here,” she calls, moving towards the camera so he can hopefully look at her instead of the lens, if that helps him. Ghost seems to know exactly what to do, looking right to Dontos with barely any cues from Jon, posed absolutely perfectly. 

“Hey,” Missandei says, appearing next to Dany, making her jump. “How’s he doing?” 

“Ghost, or Jon?” Dany mutters. “Ghost is doing fine. Jon looks like he’d rather die than be here.” 

She regrets the words the moment they’re out of her mouth. She hasn’t forgotten Jon’s story of how he left the Night’s Watch, and while he didn’t give her much detail on the extent of his injury, his reaction to her initial question is enough to make her think it was no minor scrap. Judging by the demons she’s seen dancing in his eyes on occasion, she’d be willing to bet that the trauma of his accident is still with him. 

Something that she, unfortunately, understands far too well. 

“Over here,” Dontos says sharply, snapping his fingers to get both Jon and Ghost’s attention. “Can you look off into the distance, like you’re contemplating a trail before you? Keep it serious, but give it a little mystery.” 

Looking away from the camera does nothing to make Jon more comfortable, his hands still awkwardly shoved in his pockets, teeth clenched together, making his jawline even sharper. 

“Fucking hell, I can’t use any of these,” Dontos mutters to his assistant, the makeup and wardrobe crew on hand watching nervously, the lighting people glancing back at the photograper every few seconds. She’s not sure if Jon heard him— she barely did— but his face scrunches up a little, those beautiful eyes she loves clouding, his lips curling into a frown. 

“Hold on,” Dany says, biting her lip. Dontos huffs a little bit, obviously still annoyed, but all she can think about is Jon. 

“Hey,” she says quietly, walking up to Jon’s side. He looks down at her, clearly distressed, and before she can even think she slips her hand into his. Ghost nuzzles against Jon’s legs, tilting his head back contently, tongue lolling out happily. _Well, at least one of them is enjoying this,_ she muses. And much better it be the dog, probably. Jon, at least, she can try to assuage with words.

“Sorry,” Jon says, squeezing his eyes closed. “I know I’m terrible at this.” 

“It’s alright,” Dany says, gripping his hand reassuringly. For the briefest second, she wishes that she wasn’t wearing gloves, that she could feel the rough skin of of his palm against hers. 

But now's not the time for thoughts like that. She has a job to do, and that needs to be the first priority. 

“I just feel fuckin’ _stupid,”_ Jon says, exhaling. “I have no bloody clue what I’m supposed to be doing.” 

“I know,” she says, dropping his hand, reaching out to stroke Ghost quickly. The dog nuzzles right into her palm, clearly unaffected by the cameras and crew around them. But Jon— gods, she just wants to reach up and take his face in her hands, smooth out the anxious wrinkles between his brow, run her fingers through his coarse beard and wash all his worries away. She thinks back to that day in the Kingswood— he had looked so anxious when the crowd of people had surrounded him, like a nervous, caged animal. This is different— he seems more unsure of himself than panicked— but she still wants nothing more than to just gather him up in her arms and assure him he’s alright. 

“Photoshoots are awkward,” she admits. “But it’ll be easier if you just relax a little. I know,” she says, rolling her eyes as Jon gives her a look. “Much easier said than done.” She turns back to Dontos. “Let’s do a couple practice shots, maybe?” 

“Is that really goin’ to help?” he asks, those gorgeous brown eyes so full of uncertainty that it makes her heart ache. 

“It will,” she promises. “Here. I'll stand with you. We’ll do it together.” 

“Together,” he echoes, and for the first time since the shoot started, she sees some of the apprehension in his eyes fade. 

“Okay,” she says, moving so she’s more on the side of Jon, both of them hopefully in the frame, Ghost in between them at their feet. “First things first— ignore literally everyone but the photographer. And me, obviously. Don’t ignore me.” 

Jon flashes her half a smile, and for a moment, her chest lightens, hope returning to her that they might get through this. “You’re pretty hard to ignore,” he says, and her heart speeds up at that, part of her wishing that he was saying what she _wants_ him to be saying. But the other part of her, the part rooted in rationalism that is much less lenient to let go of past trauma so easily, is scared shitless by the insinuation.

“I know, I am typically beyond stubborn and unwilling to bend until I get my way,” she says, arching an eyebrow at him. “Sounds like someone else I know.” 

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his lips as he surveys the field around them. Her heart sinks for a moment, scared he’ll be pulled out of the moment, but when his eyes return to her, they’re still light, not a hint of distress in them. 

“See?” she says quietly. “Forget anyone else is here. Everyone is gone. It’s just you, and Ghost, and me.” She can hear the shutter of the camera go off, but Jon is staring at her, his eyes boring into hers like he can see right to her soul. 

It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. 

“Okay,” she says, glancing over at Dontos. “Now pretend that there’s no camera there. Everything he tells you to do, just do it, regardless of how foolish it sounds. Forget that he’s taking pictures at all. Just think of what he wants you to do, and how you best convey that, and don’t worry about how silly you feel. If you’re not thinking about the camera, you won’t worry about how you look in the pictures. 

“You make this sound remarkably easy,” Jon says, huffing at her. “Just forgetting that everything else is here.” 

“Well, find something else to focus on, then,” she says. “When I have to look off in the distance, I generally choose some random object. A tree, here, maybe. When you have to look at the camera, just pretend the lens is a dot you’re staring at. There’s no camera actually there. Just a dot. It’s not doing anything at all. Just focus everything on that.” Jon scans the horizon, maybe searching for something to latch onto, focus on, and she turns back to Dontos, giving him a thumbs up. _Go easy on him,_ she mouths, and he nods, slightly. 

She follows her own advice, tuning out everyone but Jon and Ghost and Dontos, letting them fill her mind completely. The crew around them fades, the camera becomes nothing but a black dot— she even ignores Missandei, holding up her iPad to no doubt document their photoshoot progress for the Tyrell instagram. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters to her now is Jon. 

“Alright, Jon, Daenerys, let’s do that last one,” Dontos suggests. “Look off into the distance like you’ve just reached the top of the trail. Have Ghost stand, could you?” 

“Up, Ghost,” Jon says, nudging his dog gently, who immediately clambers to his feet. “Where are you lookin’?” he whispers to Dany, and she points with a gloved finger at a tree right on the edge of the clearing. 

“Right there,” she tells him, staring down the tree, pretending it’s the most spectacular view she’s ever seen. The Kingswood comes rushing back to her, the dappled sunlight that had washed over the valley, the soft look on Jon’s face as his eyes had met hers that afternoon, though the Kingswood National Park is far from the most amazing place she’s ever seen in the world.

“Good, that’s good,” she hears Dontos call. They move through a couple more shots, looking at the camera, off into the distance, before he asks Dany to step out. She retreats back down to Dontos’s side, watching Jon as he tries to pose by himself, his confidence fading faster with every shot. 

“Okay, hold on,” Dontos says, the crew around them tittering, and Jon looks back to her, eyes flooded with uncertainty again. 

“Daenerys,” Missandei says, appearing at her side. “Is that coat you’re wearing from the new line?” 

She looks down at the jacket she’s wearing. “No, but it did just get rereleased with a new color selection added,” she says, brow furrowing at her friend’s question. “Why?” 

“You’re wearing all Tyrell items,” Misssandei says. “Items we still currently offer. Why don’t you just get in the shots with him?” 

Dany blinks, taken aback by the proposition. “I’m not a brand ambassador,” she says, looking at Missandei. 

“Love, I’m willing to do anything if it means we can get some useful shots,” Dontos says. “Everything I have of that boy by himself is useless.” 

“Is that alright?” Dany asks, turning towards Missandei again. She just shrugs. 

“Haven’t you been in promo shoots before?” 

“Yes,” she says hesitantly, though anything she’s appeared in before has never been of this caliber. 

“Good,” Missandei says. “Get hair and makeup over here to fix whatever they need to, and then go save Jon.” 

Before she can really process what’s going on, Missandei has the hair and makeup team on her, touching up her face, unraveling her hair from the braid down her back so her curls hang free. Missandei goes over to Jon and Ghost, talking him through something while the team works on Dany. They deem her camera ready a few moments later, so she trudges back through the snow to where Jon is waiting. 

“It seems that I’m joining your photoshoot,” she says, unable to bite back a smile. This entire situation is so ridiculous, it’s hard _not_ to grin. 

“Thank you for doin’ this, Dany,” Jon says, his voice low, eyes sincere. Her smile fades as she takes him in, the way he’s looking at her, so full of gratitude it almost makes her chest ache. 

“Of course,” she assures him. “We’re in this together, it seems, doesn’t it?” 

“Aye,” he says with a nod, and now there’s a little smile stretching across _his_ lips. “It does.” 

“Alright, you two,” Dontos calls to them. “Let’s try this again.” 

They do a lot of similar things to what they had practiced— looking off in the distance, looking right at the camera, kneeling down in the snow to pet Ghost. Jon seems immediately more at ease with her by his side, much more able to tune out the crew around them and the shutter of the camera when she’s there to distract him. She tries to edge out of a few photos, stand off to the side enough that he still feels she’s there, but so that the photographer can get some photos of just him. 

“That looks great,” Dontos calls, surveying the shot he’d just taken on the display of the camera. Jon looks down at her, smiling widely, and she wishes that he would capture _this_ moment, the look upon Jon’s face brighter than sunlight. But she’ll tuck it away in her memory, keep it for herself so that she never forgets the gold in his irises, the way his face fills with light as his eyes meet hers. 

The wind continues to blow across the snowy white clearing, catching her curls and mussing them, but Dany forgets about the cold, the people around them, all the other things she’s supposed to be doing right now, caught up instead in Jon and Ghost. It’s _ridiculous_ how easy this feels, considering the last time she’d done a photoshoot was years ago, and nothing of this caliber, but it doesn’t feel like they’re posing, the two of them up here in the mountains. Instead, when she looks at Jon, Ghost posing perfectly in between them, it just feels like… them. Like that day in the Kingswood, all over again, where nothing else in the universe matters. 

She’s almost having _fun,_ romping through the snow with Jon and Ghost. And just by looking at the two of them, she can tell they’re having the same. 

“He’s quite good at this, isn’t he?” Dany says to Jon, looking down at Ghost, who’s sitting patiently in between them, waiting for Jon to tell him what to do next. 

“He’ll do whatever when properly motivated,” Jon says, kneeling down in front of him to offer him another treat. He’s been getting a constant stream of them for the past hour or so, much to his delight. Dany kneels as well, Ghost turning towards her and licking her cheek, tail wagging as he jumps to put his paws on her shoulders, nearly knocking her over. 

“Woah, boy,” she says, trying to steady herself, but it’s too late— Ghost is much heavier than he realizes, and she topples back into the snow, landing on her arse in the fresh powder. Ghost seems unperturbed, climbing into her lap and nosing at her cheek. 

“Ghost, what the bloody hell are you doing?” Jon demands, a hand going out to grab his dog’s collar, drag him back off Dany’s lap. Ghost turns his head towards Jon, giving him a quizzical look, before he nestles further into Dany’s chest, licking her cheek again. 

A giggle bubbles out of her mouth before she can catch it, arms snaking around Ghost to hold him to her. “That’s great,” Dontos calls— she had forgotten he was even there— so Jon stops trying to drag Ghost off of her lap.

“You certainly like knocking me over, don’t you?” Dany asks Ghost, petting his silky ears. His eyes slide closed contently, tongue lolling out as she scratches down his flank. 

“Generally his manners are alright, too,” Jon says, shaking his head at his dog. “It’s just you he seems to lose all self control around.” He pauses, shrugging. “And steak sandwiches, I suppose.” 

Dany laughs at that, basking in the way Ghost snuggles right up against her, his furry body keeping her shielded from the bitter cold. “Alright, come on,” Jon says, taking Ghost by the collar, dragging him off of her lap. “You have to let Dany get up, or she’ll freeze to death.” Ghost whines as he’s forcibly removed from her lap, and while Dany misses the warmth of his body and the soft press of his nose against her cheek, there’s no denying the cold shivers racing through her body from sitting in the snow. 

“You alright?” Jon asks, offering her a hand and pulling her to her feet in one easy motion. She nods, dusting the snow off her arse, eternally grateful he had made her buy all those extra layers. 

“Just very glad you talked me into getting the thermal underwear,” she says, a teasing smile pulling at her lips, and Jon chuckles, light dancing in his eyes as he surveys her. 

“You two look great like that,” Dontos says, both their heads turning back to the photographer. “Let’s do a couple more with you two looking at each other, alright?” 

Her head turns back to Jon, the light in his eyes gone when she finds them again, something indescribable taking its place. “Don’t worry,” she whispers, though whether she’s trying to assuage his fears or hers, she’s not sure. “We’re almost done.” 

“It’s not that,” he says, the muscles in his throat jumping as he swallows, stepping closer to her at Dontos’s prompting. She can feel Ghost move by her legs, rearranging himself in front of the two of them, but all she can focus on is Jon, the dark, endless brown of his eyes, the way he raises his hand to cup her face, bringing their foreheads together. 

She knows he’s just following instructions, but as she looks up at him through her lashes, everything else around them melts away. Her heart speeds up at the brush of his thumb against her cheekbone— how he’s not wearing gloves in this cold she does not understand— and she’s sure he can feel the thumping of her pulse, even underneath all the layers. 

“This okay?” Jon murmurs, and she nods slightly, half terrified of the delicate, fragile feeling of peace that’s settled over her heart, the faint desire to never move again that’s growing stronger and stronger with every pass his thumb makes over her cheek. Jon floods her senses— all she can see is his face, all she can smell is the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne, all she can feel is his forehead pressed against hers. Her heart quickens, beating so fast she thinks it might jump from her chest. It’s like her dream from the office come true, being wrapped up so closely in him. She waits for the sense of panic that followed her around after that dream to appear, for her terrified, scarred heart to demand she find a way out of his arms, but the feeling never comes. Instead, she stands still, allowing the heat of his skin against hers to keep her anchored, to chase the fears away. 

He makes her feel safe, she realizes. Moreso than any man ever has before. 

“Alright, that looks good,” Dontos calls, and the fragile moment between them shatters, Jon’s eyes squeezing closed as he pulls away from her. Dany tries not to mourn the loss of his touch, the absence of warmth from his palm as the cold, wintery air licks across her face again. Dany looks down to the photographer, scrolling through the pictures before his gaze flicks up again. “I think we’re all set.” 

She shakes her head a little, trying to refocus on the work she’s supposed to be here for before she walks over to Dontos. “These came out really good,” he says, holding the camera out to her so she can see some of the shots. “If you need ones of just him and the dog, it should be fairly easy to photoshop or crop you out of some of these.” Dany hums in agreement, looking at the photos as he scrolls through them. She can’t help but smile at the ones of Ghost in her lap— when she’s sitting down, Jon’s dog is practically taller than her. 

“Still, I think it was a good idea, putting you in there,” Dontos says. “You two have really great chemistry together.” He stops on the last photo he’d taken, Dany’s heart thumping at the tiny image of the shot that fills the camera’s screen. It looks like something from a movie, the two of them standing there with their foreheads pressed together. The way Jon is looking at her can only possibly exist in epic romances. 

“How long have you been together?” Dontos asks, and Dany almost chokes. 

“We’re not,” she says, trying to pass her outburst off as a cough. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Missandei and Jon looking at her, Ghost now happily rolling in the snow, since his coat no longer has to be perfectly groomed. “We’re just colleagues,” she clarifies, though she can hear her voice falter as her eyes flick down to the photograph still filling the camera’s screen. Absurdly, she wants that proof. Wants to keep it forever, tucked away in her memory and in her heart. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Dontos says with a shrug. “Anyways, I’ll have this and the next batch edited for you and sent to your team by next week. If you need any changes made after that, don’t hesitate to let me know.” 

“Of course,” she says, shaking Dontos’s hand. “Thank you again for everything.” 

“Daenerys!” she hears Missandei call, so she bids Dontos farewell for now, trudging through the snow back over to her assistant. 

Missandei gives her the summary of everything else that’s been happening throughout the morning— they are, miraculously, on schedule, even though she’d had to step in and become a model for one of the shoots. Their timeliness she can credit to Missandei, she’s sure. 

“The rest of the talent is already here as well, and is in hair and makeup,” Missandei says. “And Craft Services just set up lunch, so the crew can eat now before we start the next round of shoots.” 

“Perfect,” Dany says. Jon shifts on his feet, hands shoved in his pockets, and her eyes dart back up to him. “Are you heading back, Jon?”

“Don’t feel like you have to stay just for us,” Missandei says gently. “We’ll be able to get a ride back to the hotel, don’t worry.” 

“If it won’t be too much trouble for you,” he says. “I did promise Arya and Sansa I would help them run errands before dinner tonight.” 

“Of course,” Dany says, nodding succinctly. “Go help your family.” Her heart stutters at the mention of dinner tonight, remembering she said she would go to that. She still can’t quite shake the feeling leftover from the photoshoot, and she thinks she needs just a little space to sort out all her thoughts before she shows up at Jon’s home for dinner. 

And Missandei. Missandei always knows exactly what to say to put her at ease. 

“I can pick you up before dinner, if you’d like?” Jon offers. “Ubers sometimes take forever in Winterfell.”

“Oh, I don’t want to make you drive over to me, and then back,” Dany says, but Jon’s already shaking his head. 

“It’s no trouble, really,” he insists. “Let me know when you’re back at the hotel, and I’ll come get you.” She wants to protest, but there’s that look in his eyes again, so _hopeful,_ that she just nods her head. 

“Daenerys, if we’re going to eat, we have to do it now,” Missandei says, grimacing apologetically, and Jon just nods, reaching down to scratch Ghost’s ears. 

“We’ll be off, then,” he says. “I’ll see you later, Dany. Good luck with your meeting, Missandei. Thanks for everythin’ today.” 

“Bye, Jon,” Missandei calls after him, but Dany just stands there, frozen on the spot as she watches him walk back to his car, Ghost bounding along at his side. 

 _“Daenerys,”_ Missandei says, snapping her back to attention. Dany blushes, seeing the look her friend is giving her. 

“Sorry,” she says, following behind as Missandei leads them over to the tent where lunch has been set up. Her question from earlier pops back into her mind— collecting herself and making sure her voice is even, she asks Missandei, “Do you really have a conference call with Margaery tonight?” 

“I do,” she says, eyeing Dany. “But even if I didn’t, I would have pretended I did, so you could go to dinner at Jon’s by yourself.” 

“And why is that?” Dany asks, practically pouting. Missandei raises an eyebrow, both of them grabbing plates for their food from the beginning of the buffet. 

“I know that dream really freaked you out, and you don’t want to talk about your feelings,” she says, her voice calm and soothing in a way only Missandei can ever seem to manage. “But can I talk about _Jon’s_ feelings?” 

“I suppose so,” she says, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t aware you had any insight on those.” 

“I may not, but I do have eyes,” Missandei says. “And anyone else who does can tell he has feelings for you, just from looking at him.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dany says, her heart speeding up. “He does not have feelings for me.” 

Missandei laughs at that. “If you truly believe that, _you’re_ the one being ridiculous,” she says. “That man looks at you like you’re the stars in the sky above. And I’ve seen the way you look at _him,_ too,” she adds. Dany’s jaw drops open in shock. 

“Missandei, what are you insinuating?” she says, laughing to cover up the fact that she’s scared shitless by this conversation. It’s taken so long for her to reconcile her broken heart, to get back on even ground and let new people into her life— she’s not even sure where to start in addressing her possibly romantic feelings for Jon. It’s just… not something she’s sure she’s ready to consider. 

“I’m just saying, love,” Missandei says, stepping closer to her, lowering her voice, “that I know you don’t want to consider the possibility. I know you think it would be impossible for you to feel that way about anyone again. But I also know _you._ And I see how happy you are when you’re with Jon.” She shrugs, letting Dany process that. “I don’t think you should do anything drastic. Take your time if you need to. But don’t rule out the possibility.” 

Dany swallows, staring down at the buffet before them, her heart in her throat. “That’s a lot easier said than done,” she whispers, and Missandei takes her free hand, squeezing it comfortingly. 

“I know,” she assures her. “Just… consider it. Not everyone’s out to hurt you. And Jon is a good man.” She smiles, pulling up Tyrell’s instagram account on her tablet, where she’s been adding to their story all day. Dany’s heart stutters as she shows her a picture of her and Jon, smiling widely together at the camera during their shoot, bodies pressed together. “And you do look _very_ cute together.” 

Dany stares at the photo, the smile on her face, the way her body tucks right into Jon’s side, like she’s meant to fit there. Missandei is right, she knows. Jon Snow is unlike all the men she’s known before in her life. She couldn’t find someone more different from Drogo if she tried. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and he makes her heart speed up and her chest feel light in ways she hasn’t felt in _years._ He listens to her, and makes her smile, and he trusts her enough to let her in, to show her some of the darker parts of his past. 

She remembers the way he had looked at her at Tormund’s pub, after he’d told her about his time in the Watch. The absolute trust he’d held in his eyes. The way he’d put himself out there, exposed parts of his past, just because she wanted to know. 

It makes her think. She could do the same. It scares her to her very core, considering telling someone all of her past, revealing all of her reservations and fears, but… but. Missandei may have a point. She has noticed the way he looks at her sometimes, his eyes flooded with light, like she’s the only thing worth seeing. She’d never put much thought to it before, her heart determined to protect itself by ignoring the simple truths before it. And while it scares her half to death to think of why, it also excites her. A small, hopeful part of her that she wasn’t even sure existed anymore says that maybe, just maybe, being with Jon would be worth it. Her heart aches, a longing in it that she thought was long forgotten. 

It’s been so long since she wanted someone that way. 

She’s not ready to take that plunge right at this moment. But maybe, with Jon by her side, the fall won’t be half as scary as she fears it might be.

***

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48705329388/in/dateposted-public/)


	8. Chapter 7, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wants to laugh and cry at the same time, run away and never confront her feelings, and still give in and find out what it would be like to kiss him. She’s not quite sure how she didn’t see this inevitability as it hurtled right at her, but as much as it terrifies her, she can’t deny it anymore. Even if this wasn’t what she wanted or planned, she has feelings for Jon. And at this point, she’s not really sure she could resist them if she tried. 
> 
> Dany shouldn’t be surprised, really. She may have lived in denial for the better part of the last few months, and this realization might be new to her, but Jon Snow has somehow managed to take down her walls, carefully and steadily, brick by brick, since that night she sat across from him at a bar and got lost in his eyes and his voice for hours on end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello everyone, and welcome back to more Winterfell!!
> 
> See, I promised it wouldn't take me as long to get the next chapter up! Even though it is every bit as long, haha. I love this chapter dearly, though, and I am hopeful that you will as well :) And as much as I THOROUGHLY enjoyed hearing about all of you sneaking off to the bathroom to read the last chapter of this during your workdays, I specifically waited till now in the day to post this so that y’all wouldn’t have to do that again. The sacrifices you guys make for this fic, really. It warms my heart 😂😂
> 
> As always, a million thanks to my AMAZING betas, Fer and Giulia, who made this rambly mess something actually presentable and left hilarious comments on the google doc so that I got to laugh as I edited. And thank you as well to Ellie, who let me complain about this fic to her, like, literally constantly, and gave me invaluable feedback and advice. I seriously don't think this chapter would have been anywhere near as good as it is without the three of you (y'all know why, lol). 
> 
> I must add, I had artwork of the last scene in this chapter commissioned by Dragonanddirewolf on tumblr and it is absolutely BREATHTAKING. Go check it out [here on my tumblr!!](https://stilesssolo.tumblr.com/post/188110633484/as-a-graduation-present-to-myself-i-had-a-piece) It seriously took my breath away. I can't stop staring at it, it is SO BEAUTIFUL. 
> 
> Also, Viserys and Rhaegar come up in this chapter, and I am going to please ask that everyone ignore canon Dany’s unfortunate habit of naming things after dead people she knows and please pretend that Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal are names completely unrelated from these characters in the fic. Like, Dany, I love you girl, but you are NOT making my life easy here, as someone who does not want to come up with an explanation about why you named a cat after your shitty ex. 
> 
> Thank you guys as always for reading, commenting, and loving this fic so much!! I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter :)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48705829227/in/dateposted-public/)

Dany’s been pacing practically since they got back from the mountains. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. First she had taken a shower and nearly torn her hair out as her anxiety had built, and _then_ she had gotten out and started pacing. 

“Daenerys,” Missandei says pointedly, looking up from her laptop and staring her down from across the room. “I truly think you’re overreacting.” 

“Why did I agree to this?” Dany says, ignoring Missandei’s reassurances. Her heart is beating so fast she thinks it may just jump out of her chest. “Why did I say I would have dinner with his _entire godsdamn family?”_

“I don’t know, but you did,” Missandei answers. “So you have to go.”

“Are you sure?” she says. “I could pretend I have a sudden emergency at work and tell Jon I have to deal with it and can’t come anymore.” 

“I will not allow you to do that,” Missandei says with an arched brow, pointing an accusing finger at Dany. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not, Dei?” Dany pouts. Missandei looks entirely unfazed. 

“Because that would be doing a really shitty thing to a _very_ nice man who you have stated on _numerous_ occasions that you enjoy spending time with, and I will not let you do that to Jon,” she says, arms crossed. “For the love of the gods, Daenerys, it’s one meal with a group of people that you’ve mostly met before. And who _like_ you. I think you’re taking this a tad too seriously.” 

“I’m having dinner with his bloody parents!” Dany whines. “How is that _not_ a big deal?” 

“I think you’re freaking out because it feels like something you would do if you two were dating, and that scares you,” Missandei says. Dany’s mouth snaps shut, her retort dying on her tongue, because that is sort of _exactly_ the problem. She may be willing to perhaps consider the possibility that she has feelings for Jon, but… meeting his family seems like a step in the process that is hurtling at her much too fast. 

“Alright,” Missandei says, standing up and walking over to Dany, forcing her to sit down on the end of the bed next to her. “Let’s, for a moment, put what I said earlier about your feelings for Jon aside, and look at the facts. This is a dinner that his siblings, who you have mostly met already, are also inviting friends to. It could be a big, casual, family and friends barbeque for all you know.” 

“It’s too cold for a barbeque,” Dany says, looking up at Missandei miserably. Her heart is still pounding in overdrive, anxiety making her breathing shallow. 

“You know what I mean,” Missandei says, rolling her eyes. “You’re not sitting down in front of his parents and being presented as his girlfriend or anything. You’re going to have fun and enjoy some home cooked Northern food, and it’s going to be _fine.”_

“Are you sure?” Dany asks, voice small. Missandei nods. 

“I know it. And besides, you are Daenerys Targaryen. You have stood up to asinine men three times your age in board meetings and come away victorious without breaking a sweat. You can make it through one singular dinner.” She arches an eyebrow at her. “Plus, you’ll get to see Jon.” 

That is true. As much as the prospect of meeting the rest of his family terrifies her, Dany can’t deny her curiosity. She wants to know as much as she can about Jon, and here he is, inviting her into his childhood home to meet his family and see where he grew up. 

“Okay,” she says, finally relenting. Some of the nerves fade, her heart rate calming, as Missandei squeezes her hand. She turns to look at her friend, pulling a perfect pout. “Still, will you help me pick something to wear?” 

They settle on a pretty new sweater she’d gotten for the trip here and jeans, and Dany blow dries her hair so that it falls down her back in soft waves. Casual, but not so casual that it looks like she didn’t try at all, she decides. She finishes with her minimal makeup just as Jon texts her to tell her he’s outside, and her heart picks up a little bit, fluttering in her chest. “You can do this,” Missandei assures her one last time, before pushing her out the door. 

She takes a little solace in the fact that Jon also seems to be on edge, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he drives through the city streets. “So,” she says, unable to take the silence any longer. Jon looks over at her, eyes locking on hers momentarily, and it steals all the air from her lungs. 

“What are we having for dinner?” she asks. It seems like an innocent enough question. Jon visibly relaxes, smiling a bit.

“Y’know, I didn't even ask,” he admits. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be delicious. Sansa and my aunt have been cooking since I got home.” 

“Your aunt?” she asks, heart rate picking up once more. Gods above, how much of his family is going to be there tonight? 

“Aye,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. He looks uncomfortable again, and she wants to reach over and take his hand, soothe his fears, but her own heart is beating so rapidly she’s scared of what might happen if she did. “I should probably explain, I suppose.” He drops his head briefly, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. 

“My siblings aren’t really my siblings,” he says, and Dany’s anxiety immediately disappears, replaced instead with confusion. “They’re my cousins, technically,” he continues. “That’s why their last names are all Stark, while mine’s Snow. My mum died when I was little, and I never knew my biological father. Took off before I was born, I’ve been told. So my mum’s brother, my uncle, raised me with all of his kids— my cousins. But they feel like siblings to me. My uncle’s always been my dad to me as well.” 

“Oh,” she says, taken aback. She _never_ would have realized that Jon’s siblings weren’t actually his siblings if he hadn’t told her. And his mother… “I’m so sorry about your mum,” she says, knowing the words probably don’t have any effect— they never really do on her— but wanting him to know she cares all the same. 

“S’alright,” he says with a shrug. “Anyways, my aunt— she's never really cared for me. She and my mother never got along, I’ve heard, and she always disapproved of her having me without getting married to whoever my father was. And then when my mum died, it said in her will that my Uncle Ned had sole custody of me.” He laughs humorlessly. “She’s always taken that very literally. She’s not exactly a big fan of me, and that discovery didn’t really help.” 

Dany doesn’t know how to respond to that— the thought of anyone disliking such a _wonderful_ person like Jon based on past prejudices makes her blood boil. Jon seems nonplussed, though, eyes flitting over to her quickly. “Anyways. I just wanted to warn you. You’re not exactly walkin’ into some picture perfect family here.” 

At that, she laughs. “Jon, believe me, your family sounds much more functional than mine ever was. I’m excited to meet the rest of them.” 

He smiles a little, glancing over at her. “I’m glad.” 

A moment later he pulls down a long drive, and Dany’s mouth falls open as his house finally comes into view. 

“Jon Snow,” she says accusingly, looking over at him. “You did _not_ tell me you live in a _castle!”_

He laughs at that. “It's not actually a castle, you know. Just sort of looks like one. It’s been in the family for generations. My dad grew up here as well.” She understands he means his uncle by that, her eyes still trained on the house as he parks the car. She looks back to him, breath catching at the depth of his eyes as they meet hers, the way his mouth ticks up in the slightest smile. “You ready?” he asks, and she nods. 

“I’m ready.” 

Her rapid pulse may say otherwise, but she steels herself as she opens the car door. This is something she wants to do, and she will have fun. She will not allow her terrified heart to scare her away from learning more about Jon. 

“Careful,” Jon says as they reach the door. “The dogs’ll probably attack the moment it’s open.” He doesn’t even give her a moment’s notice before he pulls it open, a cacophony of barking echoing from the end of the entrance hall. 

Six dogs the size of Ghost come barrelling at her once they’re inside, Dany taking a step back instinctively. Jon throws out an arm to protect her from the excited dogs, but it doesn’t seem necessary— Ghost shoves to the front of the crowd, growling gently at his siblings until they all back off. He then turns to Dany, tail wagging, nudging her hand with his nose. 

She can’t help but laugh. 

“Hi, boy,” she says, scratching his ears, and Jon chuckles next to her. 

“I think he might like you more than he likes me,” he says, giving her a teasing grin. Dany rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, please. You’re the one who feeds him.” 

“Jon, is that you?” Sansa’s voice calls, cutting Jon off from responding to her. Instead, he offers her a hand, pulling her down the hallway through the sea of dogs, all still following the two of them intently. 

“Aye, it’s me,” he responds, dropping Dany’s hand as they reach the end of the hall. The sprawling kitchen opens up to their left, Sansa at the counter with an apron tied around her. She smiles when she sees Dany, before her eyes flit back to Jon. 

“And Daenerys is here too, good,” she says. “Dinner’s almost ready. Right, Mum?” 

It’s then Dany notices the woman at the other end of the kitchen, bent over to take something out of the oven. Dany looks up at Jon, noticing the tension in his jaw as his aunt turns around to face them, eyeing Dany warily. 

“Yes, it is,” she says, dusting her hands on her apron and walking over to the two of them. Her eyes land on Dany, the same startling blue color as Sansa’s, her gaze apprehensive. Jon clears his throat, looking between the two of them. 

“Uh, this is Daenerys Targaryen, who I’m workin’ with on the sponsorship,” Jon says to his aunt, before turning back to Dany. “Dany, this is my Aunt Catelyn.” 

“Lovely to meet you,” Dany says, giving the woman a warm smile and offering her hand. Appearing polite and lovely when she’d rather be anything but— _that_ she has experience with. 

“You as well,” Catelyn says, shaking her hand and offering Dany a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Something in the kitchen beeps, and she apologizes before retreating back to the stovetop. Dany glances at Jon— he just rolls his eyes, jaw still tense, and Dany tries not to laugh. 

“Meera and Jojen here yet?” Jon asks, and Sansa shakes her head. 

“No, they should be here any minute, though,” she answers. “Bran said they were on their way fifteen minutes ago.” One of the dogs— Lady, Dany is nearly positive— sits at Sansa’s feet, pawing at her leg as she finishes chopping up something. “Oh, stop it, you,” she says, nudging Lady affectionately with her hip. Ghost pads over as well, looking up at her with wide, doleful eyes, clearly wanting some of whatever she’s preparing. 

“Gods above, this is why the dogs should be outside,” Sansa grumbles, before raising her voice. “Rickon! Did you let the dogs back in?” 

“What?” a voice responds, a tall, gangly teenager with a mop of sandy curls appearing in the doorway. 

“Did you let the dogs back inside?” Sansa asks, irritated, but before her brother can answer, the door opens at the end of the hall again, a voice calling out hello. 

“Meera, Jojen!” another voice sounds, a different boy with hair almost as dark as Jon’s appearing in the doorway. All six of the dogs start barking at the new arrival, Ghost and Lady shooting out of the kitchen to follow their siblings down the hall, the noise so loud Dany can’t hear anything else. 

“Others take me, Rickon, put them outside again!” Sansa snaps, glaring at her brother. He flips her off, but not before Catelyn turns and catches a glimpse of him— his eyes go wide as saucers, and he disappears down the hall as his mother angrily calls his name. Jon snorts in laughter, shaking his head. 

“C’mon, everyone else is in the sitting room,” he says, and she follows him out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“Sorry about the dogs,” he says, the sound of their barking growing quieter as they retreat further into the house. “Generally we don’t have all six of them in one place together. They can be a lot, all in one group.” 

“It’s quite alright,” she says, grinning at him. Butterflies flutter in her stomach as he guides her into another room, the reality of meeting the rest of his family now unavoidable. 

But it’s just Robb, his wife, and Arya— all people she already knows, and she relaxes a little as they all look up at her. Arya smiles at her from her seat on the couch, right next to a crackling fire in the hearth. “Daenerys!” Robb says, smiling widely from his place next to Talisa. “Good to see you again.” 

“You as well, Robb,” she answers with a grin. “You’re much more sober, I see.” 

Talisa laughs at that, both hands resting on her belly as she tips her head back. Robb shakes his head defeatedly, but there’s still a glimmer of light in his eyes. 

“I heard you kicked my arse at pool,” he admits, and Dany smiles. 

“It was mostly your own doing that led to your downfall, to be honest,” she says. “Jon was carrying our team completely.” 

“Hey, you got a few in,” Jon says, looking down to meet her eyes. She swallows, thinking back to their game— she _had_ sunk a few balls, with Jon’s help. And that just reminds her of the way he had held her as he’d showed her how to position the cue, the feeling of his strong, solid chest against her back, his warmth radiating through his shirt and his scent flooding her senses… it’s enough to make her blood run hot, desire flowing through her veins, the memory of his fingers brushing her hip sparking something inside her. She’s amazed she had been able to do _anything_ with Jon pressed up against her like that, the desire to see all that firm muscle hidden beneath his shirt overwhelming. Luckily, Robb starts talking again, distracting her from fantasizing about Jon hovering over her for very _different_ reasons.

“We’ll have to have a rematch soon,” Robb says. “So I can defend my reputation.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, throwing his brother a smirk. “Jon would be willing to help you again, I’m sure. He is a _very_ good teacher.” 

Dany’s heart plummets— is she _that_ obvious that Robb can see right through her after barely half a conversation? She _just_ admitted to herself that she may have more-than-platonic feelings for Jon mere hours ago! But then she catches sight of Jon, his cheeks flushed and his gaze murderous as Robb stares back at him, and the panic settles. Her heart flips a little in her chest, realizing now that Robb was cajoling _Jon,_ not her. Missandei’s words from earlier return to her— maybe he truly _does_ have feelings for her. The idea is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. 

“Are you sure you could handle another night at Tormund’s so soon, Robb?” Arya teases. “I thought you were still hungover from Sunday.” 

Robb scowls. “Fuck off, Arya. I wasn’t _that_ bad.” His sister grins like a cat that caught the canary, as Talisa laughs, patting her husband’s arm sympathetically. 

“It was pretty bad, love. You’re lucky Jon volunteered to take care of you once you started vomiting.” Robb grumbles something incoherent, Arya’s smirk positively delighted. 

“You two going to stay a minute? You know you can sit down, right?” Arya says, with an arched eyebrow at Jon. He meets Dany’s eyes, gesturing towards the empty seats on the couch next to his sister, sitting down next to her after she takes the spot by Arya. 

“So tell me the truth,” Arya says, lowering her voice so just Dany can hear her. “How bad was Jon during the photoshoot today?” 

She looks over at Jon, worrying her lip, but he’s caught up in conversation with Robb, thoroughly distracted. Grey Wind ambles into the room, padding right over to Talisa and nosing at her belly, making Robb laugh. Dany turns back to Arya, grinning a little. “It… could have been worse,” she says diplomatically, but Arya sees right through her, laughter bubbling out at Dany’s words. 

“I knew he’d be bloody terrible,” Arya says with conviction. “He _hates_ getting his picture taken; it’s a pain in the arse to get him in any photos at all for Ghost’s instagram.” She smiles, shaking her head. Somewhere down the hall, Dany can hear Catelyn calling for Rickon again. 

“He was pretty good, really,” she says, protectiveness sparking in her, making her want to defend Jon. “It was a huge shoot, which can be overwhelming in and of itself. But we took some practice shots, and I gave him advice, and in the end it turned out alright.” She laughs. “Ghost was perfect the entire time, naturally.” 

Arya nods, a smile playing at her lips as well. “Ghost could be a professional model, I swear. I’ve never seen a dog so calm with a camera pointed in his face before. Anytime Jon tries to take pictures of Nymeria out on hikes, she runs away.” She huffs in laughter. “I’m sure she’s off hiding somewhere in the house right now. She hates big crowds of people. Ghost is such a ham in comparison to her.” 

Dany laughs as Catelyn’s voice echoes down the hall, her aggravated call of _“Rickon Stark, you get back here this instant!”_ sounding as the boy in question appears in the doorway. He ambles over to the other sofa, taking a seat next to Robb as if his mother hasn’t been screaming for him the past few minutes. 

“What?” he demands, eyes darting between all his siblings, who are looking at him with brows raised.

“Why’s Mum screaming your name?” Robb asks. Rickon grumbles, crossing his arms. 

“She wants me to set the bloody table,” he says. 

“So why aren’t you?” Robb answers, unimpressed. 

“I always end up setting the table,” he says. “Can’t someone else do it for once?” 

“Sansa and Mum have been cooking all day,” Arya retorts. “Go set the godsdamn table, Rickon. It takes five minutes.” 

“You’re not my bloody mother, Arya,” he snarks back. “Why don’t you go do it?” Robb reaches over and cuffs him on the head. 

“Fine, I’ll set the table. Then you can do the dishes after,” Arya spits back. 

“C’mon, Rickon. Stop your whining and go help,” Robb tells him. Rickon rolls his eyes dramatically, but he stands all the same. Jon smirks, but Dany can see the affection in his eyes as he watches his little brother. It makes her heart ache a little bit— she can’t even remember the last time she spoke to Viserys. And Rhaegar, well… Most of the time she’s able to push thoughts of her brothers from her mind, but seeing Jon with his makes her miss them even more. 

“You sound like Dad,” Rickon grumbles, giving Robb one last look of disdain before he disappears down the hall, presumably to help his mother. 

Robb turns back to Talisa, looking downright exhausted. “I’m not sure I can do this anymore,” he says, eyes wide. “I’ve been home all of three days and already Rickon hates me. Are you positive you have to have that baby in a month?” 

Talisa laughs, patting his arm affectionately. “I can’t even _begin_ to explain how sick I am of sharing my body with another human. So yes, I am positive I am having this baby in a month,” she says. “Whether you are ready or not. Because _I_ am ready to go more than a few hours without a smaller version of _you_ elbowing a different internal organ.” Robb smiles at that, resting a hand on top of Talisa’s stomach, the two of them sharing a tender look that Dany feels almost bad for witnessing. She glances over at Jon, ever so briefly, as he watches his brother and goodsister, and she doesn’t miss the hope splashed across his handsome features, the way his eyes watch the two of them like he can’t help wanting that someday. 

Dany’s always thought after Drogo that she would never want children. She’s known for years now that her shattered-beyond-repair heart would never work well enough for her to care for a person so much that she would _want_ to go through that again. Even now, the thought of it is enough to make her heart speed up, for panic to begin clouding her mind. But then Jon looks over at her, catching her gaze, and she can just feel herself relax without even trying. 

“You okay?” he whispers, only loud enough for her to hear, and she nods. He gives her a little smile in return, and her heart flutters, stomach swooping at the light in his eyes. And just that _one_ look, the way it makes her feel— it gives her hope. Hope that maybe she isn’t as broken as she once thought. 

“I’m still not entirely sure I’m ready to be a father,” Robb is saying, Talisa rolling her eyes at him. Jon chuckles, meeting his brother’s eyes. 

“I think it might be a little late at this point, Robb,” he jokes. 

“Besides, he won’t be a snarky pain in the arse _right_ after he’s born,” Talisa assures him. “You’ll have a few years to prepare yourself to deal with all the sarcastic quips.” 

“It’s true,” a voice sounds from the doorway, and Dany looks over as a man that can only be Ned Stark enters the sitting room, smiling slightly at Robb in a way that looks _so_ much like Jon it’s uncanny. “You’ll just get no sleep those few years, because he’ll be cryin’ instead.” 

“Still sounds like Rickon,” Arya mutters, and Jon coughs, trying to disguise his laugh. Dany bites back a smile as well, Arya seeming completely unfazed by the disapproving look from her father. 

“Arya,” he chides, but there’s a hint of a grin playing at his lips as well. 

“Dad,” Jon says, standing up, diverting the attention from Arya. Jon looks back at her, his hand raising slightly as if he wants her to take it, before he seems to think better and lowers it back down. Dany stands by his side, heart jumping suddenly at the prospect of being introduced to Jon’s father. 

“This is Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon says, looking back at Dany, his lips quirking up at the corners, light shining in his beautiful eyes. “Dany, this is my father, Ned Stark.” 

“It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” Dany says, offering her hand. She feels like a seventeen year old meeting her boyfriend’s family for the first time, nerves bubbling in her stomach as Ned shakes her hand. Which is _ridiculous,_ she reminds herself, because that’s not what this is. Not even close. 

“You as well,” Ned says, and she knows Jon told her that he isn’t actually his biological father, but the similarities between them— if Jon _hadn’t_ told her, she never would have suspected. His hair is lighter than Jon’s, straighter, but he wears it bound back in the same manner. His eyes, the little smile he offers her— it’s so clear, the resemblance between the two of them, moreso than any of Jon’s other siblings, save maybe Arya. 

“You’re the one from the company, then,” Ned says. “That he’s doing the… Instagram thing for.” 

“You can see Jon gets his lack of social media talents from Dad,” Arya says, giving her father a cheeky grin as she slips past them and down the hall. 

“Yes, that is me,” she says, nodding at Ned, trying not to laugh at Arya’s comment. “Also the one forcing him to learn to use his account, and to go to photoshoots up in the mountains in the freezing cold.” 

Ned chuckles at that. “You think this is freezing cold, have Jon bring you back up here once winter’s truly come.” 

Dany’s heart leaps in her throat, at the implication of coming back here with Jon, even after his sponsorship is over and there are no more professional ties keeping them bound together. Before she can dwell on it too long, though, Sansa appears in the hallway, apron gone now, Lady at her heels. “Dinner’s ready!” she calls, and Robb and Talisa stand as well, Robb helping his wife out of the reclining chair. Jon looks at her, smiling a bit, and she returns it as she follows him down the hall to the dining room. 

The table in the middle of the long room is _enormous,_ though Dany supposes that’s a good thing, as every single spot is set with plates and glasses and cutlery. Catelyn places one last dish in the center of the table on a trivet before standing back, hands on her hips as she studies the food filling the table. 

“Looks delicious, love,” Ned says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head before taking his seat at the head of the table. Catelyn smiles sweetly at him, tugging her apron off over her head and disappearing once more into the kitchen, a big black dog following behind her. “You’re still not getting any of this,” she scolds the dog, patting his head affectionately. Jon’s other siblings begin sitting as well, and Dany stands rooted in one spot, suddenly realizing she doesn’t know where to go.

But then Jon nudges her, nodding towards the empty chairs between Sansa and Arya, pulling one out so she can sit. “Thank you,” she whispers to him, and he just nods, that little smile she’s come to be so fond of pulling at his lips as he takes the seat next to her. 

It seems the dogs are aware that it is dinner time as well, because slowly they all wander into the dining room, as plates are filled and dishes passed around. “What should I try?” Dany asks Jon, a little overwhelmed by all the options. “I don’t quite know what any of this is.” 

“You trust me?” Jon asks, and she nods, automatically. “I’ll make you a plate,” he says, putting a slice of some sort of meat pie on his plate, then another on hers. 

It occurs to her, as she watches Jon fill her plate, Arya throwing him a stern look when he tries to skip over a certain dish and insisting Dany _has_ to try that, that she just told Jon she trusts him. She can’t remember the last time she told a man that. Even with Daario, who was always kind to her, always made sure she was okay and genuinely cared for her— she’s not quite sure she ever trusted him. It’s another residual effect of her relationship with Drogo; she’s hard pressed to let anyone in nowadays, knowing that relying on just herself is far more stable. Trusting a man is just opening herself up to being vulnerable with them, and that’s something she hasn’t considered in years and years. No, she’s built up walls of iron around her heart, for its own protection, and she very rarely lets anyone past them. 

But here she is, eating dinner with Jon and his family at their home in Winterfell, on a business trip she shouldn’t even be on in the first place, telling him she trusts him like it’s as easy as breathing. And truly, even if now it’s over something as trivial as dinner dishes, the most shocking thing is that Dany finds she _means_ it.

Before she can freak out even _more_ about that, slam her walls back into place and retreat from the terrifying unknowns all of _this_ presents, a nose nudges at her knee, and she almost jumps, realizing Ghost somehow snuck under the table and is at her feet. He lays his head in her lap, looking up at her with wide, doleful eyes, and it’s all Dany can do to not melt right on the spot. 

“Hi boy,” she says, stroking his silky ears, smiling at the way his eyes slide shut contently as her fingers card through his thick fur. 

“Just ignore him,” Jon says, aiming a pointed look at his dog. Ghost just blinks back innocently. “He thinks if he begs long enough you’ll finally give in and share your food with him.” 

“Wonder where he got that idea,” Arya says. Jon narrows his eyes at her, but Arya just glances away, feigning innocence just as well as Ghost does. 

“I dunno,” Jon says, voice low, but there’s a teasing glint to his eyes. “You could ask Sansa.” 

From his other side, Sansa’s jaw drops. “Do _not_ blame me!” she says. “It is _definitely_ your fault. Or Pyp’s, honestly.”

“Anyways,” Dany cuts in, biting back laughter at the siblings’ squabble. “I’m very sorry, Ghost, but you can’t have any of my dinner. It looks far too delicious for me to share.” 

“This the first time you’ve have Northern food, Daenerys?” Ned asks, from his seat at the head of the table. Dany nods. 

“Yes, it is,” she says. “Well, we had some at Tormund’s the other night, but before this week I’d never had anything. It’s the first time I’ve been to the North.” Her stomach flutters, nerves making her want to keep babbling. Luckily, Robb cuts her off. 

“Probably for the best,” he says with a shrug, a forkful halfway to his mouth. “Anythin’ claiming to be Northern food in King’s Landing is shit.” 

“And that’s why it’s better to go to school up North,” Jon’s other brother— Bran, she’s fairly sure— cuts in. “You don’t have to go nine months of the year without Mum’s kidney pies.” 

“And you get to take classes on the _very_ weird history of the North too,” the boy sitting next to Bran says. Jon had mentioned his friends were coming, but she can’t remember their names. “Bran and I took an elective last semester on old Northern myths. Did you know there’s a story about a man a thousand years old who was stuck in a Weirwood and had visions of the past, present, and the future? He called himself the Three Eyed Raven.” 

“That sounds insane,” Arya says with a roll of her eyes. “Although when I did my semester in Braavos, I learned in a class that they apparently used to have a temple full of faceless assassins who worshipped the god of death, so I guess anything’s possible.” 

“What’s a weirwood?” Dany whispers to Jon, leaning over so as not to interrupt the conversation, Talisa launching into a story about the old tales of Volantis. 

“It’s a type of tree,” Jon answers, voice equally low. “White trunk, red leaves. They only grow up here. We have one, actually, in the Godswood. I can show you after, if you like.” 

She nods, taking another bite of her food, listening to everyone talk. The food is delicious— Jon clearly hadn’t been exaggerating about his aunt’s cooking skills. Ghost has given up on his begging, collapsing instead at Dany’s feet, lounging back against her legs. 

“Everything’s delicious, Mrs. Stark,” the other girl at the end of the table— one of Bran’s other friends, Dany assumes— says. “Not that that’s surprising.” Catelyn smiles affectionately at the girl. 

“Thank you, Meera,” she says. “Still not sure the pies taste as good as when Ned’s mother made them, but they did come out alright.” 

“Stop it. They’re perfect, love,” Ned says, smiling at his wife. Dany nods in agreement, having just finished off her piece. 

“It really is,” she says, determined to be a gracious guest, moreso for Ned and Jon’s sake than Catelyn’s. “I’ve never had true Northern food before, but I know nothing after will ever compare to this. It’s truly fantastic.” 

“Thank you,” Catelyn says, smiling at her, and for once, it reaches her eyes. “I’m glad you think so. Even if it’s Northern food prepared by a southerner.” She must sense the question in Dany’s eyes, because she continues on. “I grew up in the Riverlands. I didn’t move North until after I met Ned, in university.” 

“And then my mother taught her all the family recipes,” Ned laughs. “Which was probably for the best. I’ve always been a shit cook.” 

“It’s too bad Missandei couldn’t come tonight,” Sansa says, and Dany looks over to the other woman, nodding. Jon’s eldest sister seems perfectly lovely, but she gets the sense that Sansa still doesn’t exactly know what to make of her— almost as if she’s wary of her. Missandei, on the other hand, seemed to have hit it off wonderfully with Sansa the night at Tormund’s. 

“It is,” Dany says, nodding. “I promised I would bring her leftovers, though, if there are any you can spare. She had a skype meeting with Margaery about the Get Out There campaign she couldn’t miss, unfortunately. Margaery’s schedule is sometimes more hellish than mine.” 

“Not sure how that’s possible,” Jon says, the corners of his mouth ticking up in a smirk as he catches her eye. Her gaze flits back to Sansa, and she’s surprised to see the other woman’s cheeks have turned scarlet. 

“Care to share with the class, Sansa?” Robb teases, and the table falls silent, everyone looking at the two siblings. Sansa’s gaze turns downright _murderous,_ and Jon coughs, looking down at his lap in an attempt to hide a smile. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, brother,” Sansa says, her voice falsely sweet. It doesn’t deter Robb, though, his eyes still gleaming as he stares right back at her. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, a shit eating grin stretched across his face. “I just noticed your reaction to the mention of a certain someone. Wasn’t sure if you wanted to tell us all about your date.” 

Dany’s brows raise, finally realizing what Robb is insinuating. Sansa, on the other hand, looks like smoke would be pouring from her ears if it were possible. 

“Robb, you _prat!”_ she spits, cheeks almost as red as her hair. “I swear to the _gods,_ you’re absolutely _shit_ at keeping things to yourself!” 

“Sansa!” Catelyn says, a smile stretching across her face. “You went on a date? You didn’t tell me that!” 

Sansa rolls her eyes, anger fading to annoyance, though Dany can’t help but smile at how _supremely_ proud of himself Robb looks. “Yes, I did go on a date,” she says. “Two dates, actually. And I was _going_ to wait a little bit longer to tell you all, because I really like her and I didn’t want all of you to butt into _my_ business and scare her off.” 

“Then why’d you tell _Robb?”_ Rickon asks, expression incredulous. Sansa huffs in annoyance.

“I didn’t,” she says. “He came over _uninvited_ one night—” 

“I was in the area!” Robb defends. “I was trying to be a good older brother, check up on my little sister.”

“—And I was out, and Jeyne told him I was on a date.” Sansa shoots him a glare. “He was _meant_ to keep that information to himself.” 

“Jeyne’s her flatmate,” Jon says, leaning over to whisper in Dany’s ear. She nods, still a little dumbfounded. Jon’s brow furrows when he sees the look on her face. “I didn’t tell you, did I?” he says. 

“Tell me what?” Dany asks. Jon smiles at her, eyes twinkling. Her breath catches at the sight, caught in that warm, dark brown, full of joy in a way she rarely gets to see. 

“Margaery was askin’ me about Sansa, when I was in the office after the event in the Kingswood,” he says. Dany’s heart plummets, because she knows _exactly_ what day he’s talking about. She smiles, hoping it reaches her eyes, that Jon doesn’t realize her mind has _immediately_ begun replaying the events of that day on loop— the way Jon had looked at her, hurt and affronted, when she’d been so cold with him, the way the light had left his eyes when she’d refused to meet his. How confused she’d felt after waking up, trying to sort out the tangle of emotions in her chest. But mostly, the memory of Jon’s hands mapping her body, the way it had felt to be pressed right up against his warm chest, the feeling of his lips against hers, again and again, making her breathless with want. 

She looks back down at her dinner plate, trying to get a grip on herself. She’d been confused and frightened that day, trying to make sense of everything, but now, up North, sitting next to Jon at a table full of his family members as they eat— everything is clear as day. She likes him, in a way she hasn’t felt for a man in a long time. 

It shakes her to her core, frightens her half to death, but there’s something inherently calming about the realization. Something that feels almost like peace, settling around her. It’s the same feeling from the Kingswood, when Jon had slipped his hand into hers, and from the photoshoot this morning, when he’d held her for that last shot. And suddenly, she doesn’t feel frightened at all. 

“So who is this girl?” Ned asks, giving his daughter a quizzical look. Dany turns her attention back to the table, catching Sansa’s eye briefly as she glances over at her. 

“Her name is Margaery,” Sansa says, and Arya laughs in delight. 

“I _knew_ it!” she exclaims. “Robb, I can’t believe you _kept_ that from me!” 

“Especially since we all know what an awful liar he is,” Talisa says, smiling cheekily at her husband. He just rolls his eyes, accepting everyone’s cajoling. 

“I’m confused,” Bran says, brow furrowing. “Who’s Margaery?” 

“See, Rickon, this is why you should go to school in King’s Landing,” Jon jokes. “Just to keep up with the sibling drama.” 

Sansa huffs at them all. “Margaery works with Daenerys, actually. I met her at the event Jon was at as an ambassador a few weeks ago. She’s the head of marketing for Tyrell.” Sansa pauses, considering. “It’s her family’s company, actually. Her grandmother is CEO, right, Daenerys?” 

“Yes, she is,” Dany says, nodding, all eyes at the table turning to her. “I’ve worked with her for years now. She’s really lovely. And very good at her job, as well. She’s the whole mind behind the Get Out There campaign.” She glances at Jon, throwing him a smile. “Which Jon has sort of become the face for, really.” 

“Still not sure how that happened,” Jon mutters, giving her a look. Dany has to fight to bite back a smile, instead taking another forkful of food. 

“She’s very kind, and funny, and she’s so passionate about what she does,” Sansa says, smiling. “We’re going out again after I get back to King’s Landing.” 

“I’m very happy for you, sweet,” Catelyn says, giving her daughter a warm smile. “She sounds wonderful. I’m glad that she makes you happy as well.” 

“Aye, me too,” Ned echoes. “You deserve someone who makes you smile like that.” 

Sansa looks down, her cheeks red once again. “Thank you, Mum, Dad,” she says. “And thank you again, Robb, for keeping up your reputation as the family’s worst secret keeper.” 

“I aim to please,” he says, grinning cheekily at Sansa. 

“So is she your girlfriend now?” Rickon asks, Sansa’s eyes going wide at her little brother’s question. 

“Gods above, Rickon, do you have _any_ tact?” she says. “We’ve only been on two dates.” 

“It sort of seems like you _want_ her to be,” Bran says, eyes fixed on his sister. “Why don’t you ask her?” 

“It’s not that _easy,_ you know,” Sansa says, narrowing her eyes. “There’s more to it than that.” 

“I dunno,” Rickon says, shrugging. “It seems to me like everyone in this family is just incapable of actually committing.” 

“Hey!” Arya says, cuffing her brother on the head. “Gendry and I have been together for almost three years now, you prat!” 

“Arya, don’t hit your brother,” Catelyn says, eyes stern. Arya seems unfazed, making a face at Rickon instead, who just laughs back at her cheekily. 

“Also, for the record, I am married,” Robb says, wrapping an arm around Talisa’s shoulders. “So that comment _better_ not be aimed at me.” 

“At least I’ve actually been on a date with the person I like,” Sansa retorts, and Jon coughs into his glass, Arya cackling in her seat on Dany’s other side. 

“Alright,” Jon says, his stare downright _murderous_ as he looks between all his siblings. “That’s enough.” They humor him, dropping the subject, but Dany can’t help but smile at the lot of them as they laugh. Even when they’re bickering, it’s _so_ clear to her how much they care for each other— all the teasing remarks, the way they laugh together; their love for each other shines so clearly in all of their eyes whenever they look at one another. It makes Dany’s heart ache, wishing she had had something like this. Something like a real family, where everyone cares for each other so deeply.

“So, Daenerys,” Ned says, and she swallows her bite of food, looking up to meet Jon’s father’s gaze. “You work with Margaery, you said,” he says, and she nods. “And I know you’ve been helping Jon with this… sponsorship thing he’s doing. What exactly is it you do for Tyrell?” 

“I’m the head of public relations,” she says, smiling slightly, slipping into boardroom mode. “I deal with many things for the company regarding our public and business relations, and the press and image surrounding our brand, but coordinating and overseeing the brand ambassadors we choose for each season’s new line is also a big part of my job.” She looks over to Jon, who meets her eye, giving her a little smile. “I was lucky my schedule got rearranged so that I could come up here for this shoot this week,” she adds. “Generally I’m stuck in the office all the time. It’s been a wonderful change of scenery.” 

“So you’re in charge of Jon and the others, then,” Catelyn says, though there’s a hint of coldness to her voice. Dany just nods, waiting to see where the woman goes next. She gives them half a smile, shrugging a little. “I must admit, I don’t quite see the value of having instagram sponsors for a company. I can’t imagine many people buy things just because they see someone they don’t know online using it.” 

Dany’s back stiffens, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see Jon look down, jaw clenched angrily. Catelyn’s comment may seem innocuous enough to the casual bystander, but Dany can hear the hardness underneath, the scorn she has for what her nephew is doing. The disapproval in her eyes is more than evident to her. 

“Actually, instagram is one of our most effective means of advertisement,” she says, voice getting just a little steelier. She finds she doesn’t care if this woman let her into her house and cooked her a beautiful meal— being rude to Jon about his life choices is not something she will tolerate, protectiveness flaring in her stomach, her hackles raising to defend him. She knows what it’s like to be on the other end of that mockery, to be told that what you want to do is inadequate and unimportant, will never make an impact. And Jon— who just wants to do _good_ with his account, for all the right reasons— he’s better than Catelyn will ever be. 

“Instagram advertisements and sponsorships make up a billion dollar business,” she continues, imagining she’s in a boardroom, telling the old white men who think they know _so_ much better than her that she knows what she’s talking about, and she deserves to be heard. “With the complete saturation of advertisement in traditional means of media, people are starting to pay less and less attention to ads they hear or see on the radio or on the television. There have been studies that have proven that when you follow a person on social media, you form a trusting relationship with the persona they display. People are more likely to purchase things they see people they follow using than they are off an advertisement they see on TV or in a magazine.” 

Dany looks over at Jon again, smiling a little at him, at the light that’s reentered his eyes. “Since we’ve added Jon as a sponsor, we’ve seen significant spikes in the products he highlights for his followers,” she adds. “And our profits are already reflecting better sales, allowing us to channel more money into our philanthropic work to protect our planet.” She looks back at Catelyn, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “And all because once a week, Jon posts about a product he likes, and his two million followers listen to him.” 

There’s silence for a moment, Dany’s heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Well, Gendry and I found an apartment,” Arya finally says, breaking the silence, and everyone breaks into a chorus of congratulations, asking Arya for all the details on her new home. But Dany looks back to Jon, and the look in his eyes— he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know what he’s thinking. _Thank you,_ those beautiful brown irises practically scream. 

She hopes that he can see in _her_ eyes, she would do it again in a heartbeat. 

“In the spirit of announcing news,” Robb says, garnering everyone’s attention. “Talisa and I have news about the baby.” 

“Are you finally going to tell us what you’re naming him?” Arya asks, and Talisa laughs. 

“No, you can still find out once he’s born,” she says. “No change there.”

“How has Robb not already blurted it out, then?” Rickon asks, and Robb rolls his eyes amicably. “Did you not tell _him_ the name either?” 

“I know my son’s name,” Robb defends. “Still, not our announcement.” 

“Robb was _supposed_ to keep this a secret as well,” Talisa says, giving her husband a look that can only be described as fond exasperation. “But then he blew it at the pub on Sunday.” 

“Aye, I did, and she won’t stop giving me shit for it,” Robb says, rolling his eyes. “But we’ve asked Sansa and Jon to be his godparents, and they’ve said yes.” 

Everyone at the table begins talking, congratulations offered to both Sansa and Jon, Ned giving the two of them fond looks, eyes shining with pride. It’s just Catelyn that remains silent, staring at her oldest son next to her. 

“You don’t want one of your brothers to be his godfather?” she asks Robb, and her tone is hushed, but not enough for their end of the table not to hear, even as Bran, his friends, Rickon, and Arya continue talking. Ned looks down at his plate, jaw clenched just like Jon’s was before, Sansa’s face as pale as a ghost. Talisa looks downright _pissed,_ though she doesn’t say anything to Catelyn, keeping her eyes to herself. 

Dany wants to cry at the way Jon has stiffened next to her, hand clenching in the empty space between their seats. Ghost gets up from his place at Dany’s feet, nosing Jon’s fist gently, but it does nothing to make Jon look more at ease, even as he sinks his fingers into Ghost’s fur. 

Robb, to his credit, looks just as angry as his wife does. “Jon _is_ my brother,” he says automatically, his normally light, joking tone gone, deadly serious instead. Catelyn makes a face, raising an eyebrow at him, but Robb doesn’t back down, holding his ground just as much. 

“He’s your cousin, Robb,” she says, and Robb shakes his head. He looks like he’s ready to argue back again, but Ned turns his head to his wife, his expression just as steely. 

“Cat,” he says, voice sharp and low, and she quiets immediately, drawing back into herself. The damage is done, though— the light is gone from Jon’s eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line, even as Ghost lays his head in his lap. Dany has completely lost her appetite, fiery rage bubbling up inside her, demanding she defend Jon, make this woman see how _wonderful_ he is, recognize the good, selfless man she sees every time she looks at him. But as much as she would love to unleash the dragon within her upon this woman, make her feel terrible for looking down on Jon with disdain over things for which he had no control, she’s not sure it would make anything better. 

Instead, she reaches over underneath the table, taking Jon’s hand and twining her fingers with his. He exhales shakily, quiet enough that no one but her can hear, and she can see some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders and back.  

“Jon and I are going to be great co-godparents,” Sansa says, voice light, trying to alleviate the awkwardness hanging over them. She bumps Jon gently with her shoulder, offering him a wide smile, and he gives her a little one back, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Dinner is over shortly after, Jon, Bran, and Arya standing to help clear everything away. Dany stands from her chair, not quite sure where to go, before Talisa comes over to her, linking their arms. 

“Come back to the sitting room with me,” she says, smiling at Dany kindly. “We’ll let them get all the dishes and such.” 

“Thank you,” Dany says, not really wanting to spend another minute in the same room as Catelyn. Talisa must be able to read her thoughts, because as soon as they’re in the hallway and out of earshot of the rest of them, she smiles secretively. 

“Don’t worry, you can join the ‘Catelyn doesn’t like us’ club with Jon and me,” she says, and at that Dany truly laughs. Talisa’s smile is warm, before her pretty face contorts into a pout, though the light doesn't leave her eyes. 

“Although I am a bit cross with you,” she admits, Dany’s heart plummeting momentarily, before she realizes Talisa is joking. “I’ve finally entered her good graces, _tentatively,_ now that Robb and I are having the baby, and you shutting her down almost made me laugh so badly that it certainly would have ruined _any_ chances of me remaining there.” Dany laughs, tilting her head back a little as they reenter the living room, Dany taking the seat Robb had been in earlier, Talisa easing back into her armchair as Grey Wind curls up at her feet again. 

“He’s so funny,” she says, nodding towards the dog. “Robb’s always been his favorite, from the time we got him. Followed him around day and night, curled up by his side on the couch, slept at his feet in our bed. And then as soon as I got pregnant, he wouldn’t leave me alone.” She laughs. “I sometimes think he knew before me.” 

“It’s incredible how intelligent animals are,” Dany agrees, thinking of her cats. She does miss them dearly— how Drogon will walk across her keyboard as he demands her attention, the way Rhaegal will curl around her feet while she cooks dinner, and how Viserion naps in her lap every evening after dinner, purring furiously.

“These ones more than most,” Talisa says, nudging Grey Wind with her foot affectionately. She looks at Dany again, smile kind. “Do you have any dogs?” 

She shakes her head. “No, just cats. I have three of them.” Talisa grins widely. 

“I used to have cats when I was younger,” she says. “When I lived in Volantis still. I tried to convince Robb to get one once we moved in together, but he’s such a dog person, he wouldn’t have it.” 

“I didn’t realize you lived in Volantis,” Dany says. “I grew up on Dragonstone here, but my whole family is from Valyria, and I went to uni in Meereen. You speak Valyrian, I’m assuming?” 

Dany loses track of the time as they chat about their first language, the things they miss from Essos, the differences there from Westeros. She doesn’t even realize how much time has passed until Jon’s other siblings start filtering back into the room, Ghost as well, bounding right up to her. 

“Hey,” Jon says, right behind his dog, and Dany looks up, captivated by the shine in his eyes. She almost sighs in relief to see it again, after the way dinner had ended. 

“I know it’s kind of late,” Jon says, thumbs hooked in his pockets. She’s never truly appreciated how nice his hands are, she realizes, suddenly only able to think of the way it feels when his fingers are entwined with hers. “So I can bring you back to the hotel, if you want. Or, I thought you might like to see the Godswood?” 

It _is_ late, and she does have to be up ungodly early tomorrow morning for the next round of photoshoots. But the soft little smile Jon offers her— there’s simply no way she can turn that down, not even if she wanted to. Which, she realizes, she doesn’t. She wants to spend every moment she can with Jon here.

“I’d love to see it,” she says, standing up, Ghost nuzzling at her legs. “I need my coat, right?” 

Jon chuckles. “Aye, based on your reaction to the cold all week, you need your coat. Unless you want to freeze solid.” 

“Probably best if we can avoid that,” she jokes, following Jon to the foyer, where he’d hung it up for her. Once she’s properly bundled, rolling her eyes slightly at just the coat Jon throws on, no gloves or hat or _anything,_ he nods his head back down the hall, gesturing for her to follow him.

“This way,” he says, leading her past the living room, through a maze of corridors until they’re at a set of glass doors, opening them up to reveal a wooded yard beyond, fresh powder shining on the ground in the moonlight. Ghost bounds out ahead of them, pawing at the snow happily, waiting for them to catch up. 

“Wow,” Dany says, voice filled with quiet wonder as she takes in the wood. The trees are all dusted with snow, the sky overhead an inky blue, but the bright light of the stars and the warm glow spilling from the glass doors behind them are enough to illuminate the wood, where a path lined with little lanterns stretches on beyond the trees. “It looks like a fairytale,” she tells Jon, and he chuckles, offering her a hand. 

“Aye, I suppose it does,” he agrees with that little smile that she’s come to adore, her heart thumping just at the sight of it. “Come on, I’ll show you the weirwood.” 

She takes his hand without any hesitation, allowing him to pull her deeper into the woods. 

It truly is unlike anything she’s ever seen before— Jon leads her down the winding path, Ghost bounding ahead through the fresh snow, as she takes in the surroundings. The trees seem to glow from the illuminated lanterns and the starlight above, peeking through the branches overhead. The only sound is the crunch of their feet against the thin coat of snow on the ground, Dany following Jon in silence until they reach a clearing, her breath catching at the sight. 

In the middle of the clearing is an enormous tree, the bark as white as the snow on the ground, leaves of dark, shiny red covering it, even amid the other bare branched trees in the wood. The trunk is so thick that she doesn’t think her arms would even fit halfway around it, huge branches splitting from the middle and stretching out, making it seem even larger. 

“Wow,” Dany says, taking a step closer to it. There’s a tiny pond right before the tree, surprisingly not iced over, the frozen bank reflected back in the dark surface of the water. Ghost bounds around the edge of the pond, before brushing up against the trunk of the tree, taking a seat right at its base. 

“It’s incredible,” she breathes, following Ghost so that she can reach out and touch the white bark. 

“It’s one of the last heart trees around here,” Jon tells her. “Weirwoods only grow in the North really, and there aren’t that many left. This one’s been here since before the First Men.” She nods, tracing the bark with her fingers, realizing with a start there’s a face carved into the side, so intricately that it almost looks as if the tree grew that way, tears of blood red sap leaking from its eyes. 

“Why is there a face?” Dany asks, glancing back at Jon. He looks at the tree as well, eyes studying the face, hands still shoved in his pockets. 

“The Children of the Forest carved them, apparently, in the time before the First Men,” he tells her. “They’re sacred to the Old Gods’ faith. It’s said that the Old Gods can see through a heart tree’s eyes.” 

She hadn’t even really considered it before— Jon, being from the North, must have been brought up to worship the Old Gods, not the Seven, like she was. Not that she does anymore. The only thing she’s truly found faith in over all the years, after everything she’s been through and fought for, is herself. 

But still. The tree is sacred to his religion, and she had gone and ran her hands all over it without a thought. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, withdrawing her hand from the bark. “I should have asked. I didn’t realize it was sacred; I didn’t mean to just touch it—” she stops, glancing over at Jon again, who’s chuckling. 

“It’s alright, Dany,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips. “You can touch it; it’s fine.” He rests a hand against the tree as well, his fingers splaying across the white bark. 

There’s a pause, as she studies the face in the tree, unseeing eyes staring back at her. She wonders if the Old Gods really can see her before them. Even if she doesn’t particularly hold to any faith, there’s no denying the sort of mystical power the tree exudes. 

“You believe in the Old Gods, then?” she asks, genuinely curious. Jon shrugs. 

“I always did. In the past years, I haven’t as much.” He looks at the weirwood, something in his eyes shifting, growing darker. “After everythin’ I went through, it’s hard to believe in any gods, I suppose.” 

She turns away from the tree, facing Jon completely, eyes finding his. Her heart speeds up as she takes him in— the stark contrast of his dark hair against the white snow, the shine in his deep brown irises as he watches her. The way he looks so at ease, so at home, surrounded by the snowy trees. He’s so handsome it almost hurts her, longing filling her, wanting to trace the planes of his face with her fingers, learn what it feels like to be wrapped up in his strong arms, pressed against his muscled chest. And she wonders how she possibly could have ignored this for so long, these blossoming feelings dancing inside of her, growing stronger the longer she looks at him. 

And _gods,_ the way he looks at _her—_ Dany’s not quite sure how she can doubt Missandei’s assumptions now. Just looking at Jon watch her, there is no denying the truth in his beautiful eyes as they stay trained on her. 

“Thank you, Jon,” she says finally, suddenly sure that if she does not break the silence, change the subject, she’ll have no choice but to allow herself to be even more drawn in, and then she’ll do something foolish, like kiss him. Even if she is almost positive he feels the same way for her, she’s not quite sure _she’s_ ready to confront those truths. 

His brow furrows, and he takes a step closer to her. Ghost gets up from where he was lounging at the base of the heart tree, nuzzling up against his legs. “For what?” Jon asks, a frown on his lips, confusion evident across his face. 

“For inviting me for dinner,” she says with a shrug. Dany’s not quite sure how to phrase it without coming off entirely too strong: for letting her in, for trusting her with the truth behind him. For allowing her to learn even more about him and where he came from. For reminding her what a real family is like.

“Of course,” he says, the confusion on his face clearing, lips ticking up in that small smile. “I’m glad you could come.” He looks down at the ground, expression clouding a little bit. “I’m sorry about my aunt, as well.” 

That fire from earlier flares in her chest again, remembering the way Catelyn had spoken to Jon at the table, while doting on her own children all the same. “Why are you sorry?” she asks, crossing her arms. “If anyone should be sorry, it should be her. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” 

Jon looks up at her again, offering her his hand, and she takes it automatically. They start the walk back through the godswood, down the lit path once again. 

“Still,” he says, Ghost trotting at his heels. “Not exactly a typical family dinner, I suppose.” 

At that, she wants to laugh, thinking back to _her_ family dinners. And yet, she can sense his discomfort, the guilt in his voice, like he’s somehow let her down. “Jon,” she says, and he turns to face her as they continue down the path. “You don’t know anything about my family,” she says, keeping her voice neutral. She doesn’t want to sound accusing, because that’s not what she’s doing. He stops walking, looking over at her. 

“Aye, I don’t,” he says, a little apprehensively. 

“My father was… not a nice person,” she says, lips twisting into a frown. “Most of my memories of him include him screaming at either my mother or my brothers.” 

“Memories?” Jon says, voice quieter. She just nods. It’s been years and years, so the pain has certainly dulled, but thinking about it all does dredge up past heartbreak. 

“He and my mother died when I was twelve. My eldest brother, Rhaegar, as well. There was a gas leak in the house, and an explosion. My other brother, Viserys, was picking me up from a friend’s.” She meets his eyes, the way his have grown softer making her heart hum. “I know it sounds terrible, but I didn’t miss my father. But my mother— she was always so kind. And Rhaegar, well…” she pauses, trying to collect herself. “He was nearly twenty years older than me. He was like the dad that my father never was to me.” 

“I’m sorry, Dany,” Jon says, squeezing her hand. She nods, smiling at him a little bit. Generally those words are empty platitudes, but when Jon says them, she can tell he means them. 

“It hit Viserys harder than me, I think. He took care of me while I was still too young to take care of myself, but… he was always more like my father than any of us. And as time passed, he grew crueler.” She shakes her head. “He lives in Essos now. Pentos, I think. We had a falling out, and I haven’t spoken to him since I went off to university.” 

Jon is silent a moment, but she looks over at him again, and she can tell just from his eyes, from the emotion filling them up, what he wants to say. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound like my life is so much worse than yours,” she says, giving a watery chuckle. Jon shakes his head, squeezing her hand again. “I just wanted you to know,” Dany continues. “My family was certainly no golden example. And seeing you and your siblings and your father… _that’s_ what a real family feels like. No _bullshit_ your aunt says to try to make you feel awful can erase that.” 

Jon chuckles, smiling at her a bit, tugging on her hand so they come to a stop. She can just see the house again, the end of the path in sight. “I want to show you somethin’,” he says, pulling her along after him when she nods. 

They leave the godswood, but instead of going back inside, Jon brings her around the side, where a huge glass building stands right next to the house. “The glass gardens,” he says, ushering her into the greenhouse. The air past the door is warm and balmy, even with the winter chill beyond the glass walls. 

“Most of this is herbs and spices, honestly,” Jon says, leading her down the row to the end of the greenhouse. “Aunt Catelyn uses them for cooking. But these…” he steps aside, and Dany’s breath catches as her eyes land on the beds of perfect, pale blue roses. 

“Winter roses,” Jon says, watching her as she pulls off a glove and delicately touches one of the flowers, its petals like velvet. “My mother used to love these. My dad makes sure there are always some growin’ in here.” 

“I can imagine how your aunt feels about that,” Dany murmurs, and Jon chuckles. 

“Aye, Catelyn hates it. She tried to kill them once, Robb and I think. They all almost died. She still denies it, but my father was pissed.” He reaches out and touches a petal, fingers halting against the blue flower bud. 

“My aunt always thought that my dad loved his sister more than he loved her.” Jon shrugs, eyes still trained on the flower. “Not sure that’s true, but it would explain why she looks like steam’s about to pour from her ears anytime anyone mentions Lyanna.” 

Dany smiles, studying the flower that Jon is holding. “They really are beautiful,” she says, and she doesn’t miss the little grin that tugs at his lips at her words. “I’ve never seen roses even close to that color in the South.” 

“They remind me of your eyes,” Jon says quietly, and her heart skips a beat, and then another one, thumping furiously in her chest as she turns to look at him. Jon still stares at the roses, but when he feels her gaze, he turns, meeting it with an intensity in his eyes that makes her breath catch. 

She wants to laugh and cry at the same time, run away and never confront her feelings, and still give in and find out what it would be like to kiss him. She’s not quite sure how she didn’t see this inevitability as it hurtled right at her, but as much as it terrifies her, she can’t deny it anymore. Even if this wasn’t what she wanted or planned, she has feelings for Jon. And at this point, she’s not really sure she could resist them if she tried.

Dany shouldn’t be surprised, really. She may have lived in denial for the better part of the last few months, and this realization might be new to her, but Jon Snow has somehow managed to take down her walls, carefully and steadily, brick by brick, since that night she sat across from him at a bar and got lost in his eyes and his voice for hours on end. 

It’s a good thing Jon is the one to look away first, because Dany is almost certain that if they had remained like that for one more minute, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from rising up on tiptoe and kissing him. 

But Jon does look away, her heart still pounding in her chest as he delicately plucks the rose he had been toying with, holding it out to her. “Here,” he says, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. 

Dany’s breath catches, reaching out with trembling fingers to take the rose from him. “Jon, are you sure?” she asks, hoping he can’t tell how fast her heart is beating. “I know they’re special to you— I don’t want to take—” 

“Dany, it’s already picked,” he says, chuckling lowly, and she looks up, freezing when she meets his eyes. “I want you to have it.” 

“Thank you,” she says, voice hushed. She can feel her cheeks flush, her heart thumping in a way it hasn’t in such a long time. This fluttery feeling that takes root in her chest anytime Jon so much as _looks_ at her these days— the woman who used to feel things like that all the time has been gone for so long that Dany had almost forgotten her. And yet somehow, Jon Snow brought her back to life. 

She twirls the rose around her fingers the whole drive back to the hotel, only tearing her eyes away from the blue petals to look at Jon. And when she walks back into her hotel room, Missandei’s eyes skip right over the container of leftovers Dany had brought and land on the flower, her eyes lighting up as her lips stretch into a gleeful smile. Dany’s heart speeds up, her friend’s expression saying it all. 

She’s been a bloody fool to deny her feelings all this time. 

***

It’s not until he’s already dropped Dany off at the hotel that Jon remembers just how much he wants to _strangle_ his siblings. 

Sansa and Arya are still in the kitchen with their father, helping scrub the last of the dishes as Rickon packs the leftovers into the fridge like he’s playing an elaborate game of Jenga. Jon drops his phone on the end of the island, leaning against the counter as he regards his sisters. 

“You drop Daenerys off alright?” Ned asks, and Jon nods, catching the towel that Arya tosses at him. 

“Good,” she says, nodding towards the pile of dishes next to the sink. “You can help Dad dry.” 

“Did she have a good time at dinner?” Sansa asks innocently, but Jon’s still _pissed_ that she almost outed his feelings for her in front of everyone, so he just narrows his eyes at his sister. 

“Aye, she did,” he says. “Although I was wonderin’—  what in the _hells_ were you thinkin’, Sansa?” 

Sansa turns towards him, blue eyes bright and wide, the perfect face of innocence. “What are you talking about, Jon?” she asks, brow furrowing slightly.

He just rolls his eyes. “Come off it, you know what I’m talkin’ about. _At least I’ve had a date with the person I like?”_

Now Sansa rolls her eyes. “Hey, my feelings were also outed, seeing as Robb is incapable of keeping his mouth shut,” she retorts. 

“Aye, but Margaery wasn’t at the fuckin’ dinner table!” Arya laughs at his words, handing him a pan to dry. To his other side, Ned chuckles as well. 

“I’m glad this is funny to you lot,” he says, glowering at Arya. She gives him a look in return, clearly not affected by his dour mood. 

“Jon, we’ve already told you it’s a miracle that woman hadn’t somehow noticed your constant heart eyes around her already,” Arya says. “If she made it through tonight without any suspicion, then I truly don’t believe she’s as brilliant as you claim.” 

“Honestly, Jon,” Sansa says, arching an eyebrow at him. “You sent her home with a _winter rose.”_

“You did?” Ned asks, and Jon’s stomach drops a little at the realization that he plucked one of the roses his father grows in Lyanna’s honor without his permission.

“I did,” Jon says, wincing. “I’m sorry, Dad, I should have asked. I hope it’s alright.” 

“It’s fine, son,” he says, with a chuckle. “I don’t mind at all. I liked Daenerys a lot.” 

“You did?” Jon asks. 

“Aye, I did,” he says with a nod. “And Lyanna would have as well.” 

Jon’s breath catches in his throat, blinking at his father in stupor. He knows a fair bit about his mother, but Ned doesn’t bring her up very often, simply because it’s too painful. The fact that he feels it’s significant enough to mention her now— it’s enough to make Jon’s heart squeeze. 

“There’s fire in her, I can see,” Ned says, chuckling. “I see what you mean, about her spirit. How much she cares for what she does.” He pauses, giving Jon a look. “She seems to really care about you, too,” Ned adds. 

“Mmm,” Sansa hums, trying to fight back a giggle. “Thank the _gods_ her schedule got rearranged.” 

“Sounded a lot more convincing when she said it this time,” Arya snorts. 

“Alright,” Jon says, protectiveness flaring in his chest, though it does nothing to cloud the hope still dwelling there. Hope that Dany really is here just for him. 

“So when are you going to see her next?” Arya asks. Jon shrugs.

“I dunno. She has more photoshoots in the morning tomorrow.” 

“Perfect, then you can ask her to do something in the afternoon,” Arya says. “Because I swear to the gods, if we go back south and you _still_ haven’t told her how you feel, I’m locking the two of you in a closet until you sort it all out.” 

“Arya,” Jon huffs, throwing her a dirty look. “You know it’s not that simple.” 

“Jon, if you go on your bloody ‘I don’t deserve to be happy’ self-deprecating tirade again—” Sansa starts, but Jon cuts her off.

“No, Sansa, stop it,” he says, jaw clenching. “It’s different for you, okay? You can just… ask Margaery out, and go on a date, and have a relationship without having to warn someone about all the _shit_ you’ve gone through. I can’t do that.” He sighs, twisting the dish towel in his hands. “Yes, I like Dany. A _lot._ But even if she felt the same, she deserves someone better than me. Someone who’s not still hung up on their fucked up past.” 

“Son,” Ned says, a hand resting on his shoulder. Jon looks up at his father, and suddenly he feels like a child again, like the world is too big and too overwhelming, and the only thing that can give him any sense of stability is the warmth in his father’s eyes.  

“Your sister’s right,” he says, and Jon exhales, hardly daring to believe him. “You may not feel like you’re better yet, but you are. And everything you went through shouldn’t keep you from being happy.” 

“I don’t think she’d care, Jon,” Arya adds, voice much softer than it usually is. “She’s known you for a few months now. Have you told her any of it?” 

“Aye, a bit,” he says, thinking back to the night at Tormund’s. The way she had looked at him, her eyes hard, as he’d given her the outline of the accident. How she’d told him afterwards it made him stronger. He might not necessarily believe her, but that doesn’t change the way she had reacted. 

“I think you’re scared of putting yourself out there, Jon, and getting hurt again,” Sansa says, rinsing off the last pot. Ned takes it wordlessly from her, drying it with the towel in his hand. “And I don’t blame you. But I don’t think she’s going anywhere.” 

Jon laughs humorlessly. “Weren’t you the one who was worried about her makin’ time for me?” he asks, but Sansa doesn’t glare at him, like he expects her to. Instead, her face softens. 

“That was before she put off all her work to come up North with you for a week,” she says pointedly. 

“And before she defended you to Mum, at a table of eleven people she doesn’t know all that well,” Arya adds, smirking. “I thought I was going to spit my peas everywhere when she snapped at her.” Jon smiles at that, heart leaping again at the memory of her talking back to Catelyn, her voice like fire and her eyes alight as she’d shut his aunt down. 

“Alright,” Sansa says after a moment, breaking the silence. “So what are you doing tomorrow?” 

“I dunno,” Jon says with a shrug. “Any suggestions?” 

“You should take her to those waterfalls, a little north of here,” Ned says. Jon turns towards his dad, meeting his eye. “You know, where you and Robb used to camp. It’s pretty up there right now, I bet. And an easy enough hike.” 

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Arya says, grinning. “And dishes are done. Go text her.” 

“Arya,” he says, giving her a look, but she seems to be having none of it. 

“Nope. Now, go. Sansa and I are coming too, to make sure you _make a bloody move.”_

“You can come, but don’t you _dare,”_ he says. Even if his sisters seem convinced that Dany’s here for him, he remembers Margaery’s words clear as day. He’s not going to push her at all. He’s going to be patient, and, if she wants to, let her make the move. 

He texts her from the sofa in the living room, Ghost curled up at his feet and Arya peeking over his shoulder to read his messages. “Get out of here,” he grumbles, shoving her back with his shoulder. She just makes a face at him. 

“I dunno if you can be trusted, Jon,” she jokes, but her face splits into a smile when he turns his phone around, showing her his message. And below it, Dany’s response. 

_Yes._

***

When he pulls up in front of the hotel the next afternoon, Dany and Missandei are already waiting outside. 

“I feel like you’ve become our personal chauffeur,” Dany says as he climbs out of the car, Ghost trying to follow him, whining when Jon pushes him back. 

“I don’t mind,” he assures her, smiling at them both. “How did the photoshoot go this mornin’?” 

“It went well,” Dany says. “Especially considering most of it was action shots of the athletes. We ended a little early, actually.” 

“That’s good,” he says, before turning to Missandei. “Are you coming with us, Missandei?” 

She smiles gracefully. “Oh, no, I think I’ve had enough of the snow for one day,” she says. “Just wanted to say thank you in person for all the leftovers from last night.” 

“No problem at all,” Jon tells her. “Gods know we had plenty. And I was sorry you couldn’t make it.” 

“Oh my gods,” Dany says, suddenly pulling her hands from her pockets. “I forgot my gloves. I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back.” She grimaces apologetically before she darts back into the hotel room. Jon watches her go, before turning back to Missandei, unsure what to say. But Missandei has an oddly serious look on her face, looking back once to make sure that Dany really has gone inside. 

“I wanted to talk to you, Jon,” she says, and Jon can only nod, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest, nerves twisting in his stomach. If Missandei is about to tell him to back off, to stop distracting Dany from her work while she’s here— well, he’ll understand, but he’ll also be sort of heartbroken. 

She exhales, meeting his eyes again. “I’ve known Daenerys for a long time now,” she starts. “Since we were both freshmen in uni.” She smiles a little, her eyes filling with light. “She’s my best friend in the world, and I love her dearly. But she’s stubborn beyond belief, and much more guarded than she lets on.” Jon nods, remembering Margaery’s similar words.

“I can tell she likes you,” Missandei says, and Jon’s stomach _drops._ “Even if she won’t admit it to herself yet, it’s obvious from the way she looks at you, and talks about you.” She keeps talking, but Jon is still trying to process what she had just said, hope flooding his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He plays the words over and over again in his head, just to make sure he hadn’t imagined them. 

_Dany feels the same way he does._

“I haven’t seen her act the way she does when she’s with you around a man in a very long time,” Missandei says. 

“I…” Jon says, still not entirely capable of forming coherent thoughts, _clearly._ “Missandei, why are you tellin’ me this?” he finally manages to get out. Even if his heart seems seconds away from leaping right out of his chest, there’s still something lurking in Missandei’s eyes. 

“Because I see the way _you_ look at her,” Missandei says. “And I just want you to know… she’s been through hell with men in her past. I don’t think this is some infatuation for you, some one time thing you want, but…” she pauses, crossing her arms. “If it is, you can give that up right now, and back off. I won’t see her go through any more heartbreak.” 

“It’s not,” he says, breathless. “It’s nothing like that at all. Others take me, Missandei; I’d never want to hurt her.” He swallows, her eyes upon him intense. “I care about her a great deal too.” 

“Good,” Missandei says. “I think you would be really good for her, Jon. Already when she’s around you, she seems so much more herself. But I just wanted to warn you.” She pauses, hands dropping back down to her sides. “She’s stubborn, you know, and she’s got walls of iron up around her heart. For good reason, too. So just… be patient with her. And gentle. Give her time to figure it all out.”

“I will,” he swears, and he means it, with every fibre of his being. Missandei surveys him, before she nods shortly, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. 

“Good,” she says. “If you hurt her, you’ll have hell to pay.” Her smile stretches wider, her hands slipping back into her pockets. “I’m going to go back up; I have a great deal of work to get through. I’ll see you soon, Jon,” she says.

“Aye, I hope so,” he responds, still standing there thunderstruck as Missandei turns and retreats back to the hotel. 

“What was that?” he hears from behind him, turning to see Arya rolling the window down, Nymeria forcing her head outside the car as his sister frowns at him. 

“Er, I think I just got Missandei’s blessing,” Jon says, scratching at his neck. He’s still not entirely processed what just happened. 

“Blessing for what? To date Daenerys?!” Sansa adds from behind Arya, voice almost shrill with excitement. 

“Keep it down, would you?” Jon scolds. “But maybe? I’m still not exactly sure.” 

Arya opens her mouth to say something, but then immediately freezes, tugging Nymeria back to roll up the window. “Sorry about that,” he hears Dany say, turning to see that she has reappeared, gloves in hand this time. 

“No worries,” he assures her, heart thumping as he looks at her, recalls Missandei’s words. _I can tell she likes you._ “Uh, you ready to go?” 

The waterfalls aren’t a very far drive; maybe twenty minutes from Winterfell. Still, the snow is thicker here away from the city, crisp and clean and white, unlike the dirty slush that now lines the streets. The four of them chat as they climb the trail up through the mountain pass, the dogs running gleefully through the snow ahead. 

“Gods, I love off-leash trails,” Arya comments, Nymeria and Ghost racing after each other, playing in the fluffy snow. Lady chases them to catch up, yipping at her siblings. 

“Speak for yourself,” Sansa says, a little short of breath. “I can’t keep up with them when they run like this.” 

“Sansa, your city girl is showin’,” Jon teases, and she rolls her eyes, Dany laughing at the exchange.

“Please tell me we’re almost there,” Sansa says. Jon nods. 

“Aye. Just up ahead.” 

They turn a corner, and suddenly the mountain pass opens up, revealing rolling fields of white powder yet untouched. Across the clearing are the waterfalls, nearly fifty feet high and just as wide, thundering down to the river below. 

“Wow,” Dany says, eyes going wide. Jon smiles, taking her hand and tugging her closer to the falls. Arya and Sansa stay off to the side with the dogs, hanging back. 

“Robb and I used to come camping here when we were boys,” Jon says. “It’s close enough to the city that there’s still cell service out here. My dad knew if need be, he could drive up and rescue us in about thirty minutes.” 

Dany laughs, looking away from the falls and over to him. His heart speeds up again, unable to forget Missandei’s words from earlier. The thought that this beautiful, talented, _insanely_ wonderful woman could feel the same way about him as he does her— it makes his heart expand, chest flooding with hope in a way it hasn’t in years. 

“I can see why you’d come here, still,” she says, looking around. “It’s like it’s own little world in here.” She gestures to the mountains that rise all around them, enclosing the clearing. Her eyes return to his, positively sparkling. “You could stay a thousand years here, and nobody would find you.” 

“Aye, you could,” Jon says, caught up in her smile, the twinkle in her blue irises. “You’d be pretty old, though.” 

Dany laughs, looking away, shaking her head at him. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, long silver curls almost the exact color of the snow. With the way the sunlight makes her face seem to glow, and the white coat she’s bundled up in, she looks like some sort of winter goddess. Some beautiful creature that Jon could only conjure up in a dream. “Yes, I suppose you would,” she concedes. Her eyes flit back to him, bright and hopeful. “Still. Seems like a wonderful place to spend forever. Forget about all the other problems of the world.” 

Jon chuckles. “That would be nice.” He’s about to continue, but before he can, something cold hits him square in the jaw, stunning him into silence. Dany looks just as taken aback, eyes wide as he turns to find Arya a few yards away, laughing maniacally and holding another snowball in her gloved hand. 

“Arya, don’t you dare,” he threatens, but she ignores him, lobbing the snowball at him and hitting him, with her deadly precision, right in the face. 

Jon brings a hand to his face, wiping the snow from his beard, his glare murderous. “Alright, now you’ve started it,” he says, leaning over to gather snow for a snowball. He turns to Dany, grinning at her wide eyed expression. “C’mon, copy me,” he says, showing her how to make a snowball as he hears Sansa squeal— Jon guesses that Arya turned on her next. “Make sure it’s packed in nice and tight.” Ghost barks, racing past them, jumping up in the air to intercept the snowball Arya had just thrown, catching it with his mouth before it crumbles to pieces. 

“Like this?” Dany asks, showing him her finished snowball. 

“Aye, that’s perfect.” He straightens up, one in hand as well.

“Now what do I do?” Dany asks. “Just throw it?” 

“Just throw it,” he confirms, winding up to pelt Arya with his. But before he can, something hits him square in the chest, Daenerys dissolving into laughter next to him. 

“Dany!” he says, shocked, but there’s a smile upon his face, and he’s helpless to fight it off. She shields herself as he throws his snowball back at her, and she squeals as it hits her arm. 

Soon they launch into a full on snowball fight— Jon’s gloves are caked with snow, hair full of chunks of ice, probably, but Dany’s laughter is addictive, all four of them engaging in full on snowball war as the dogs run through the middle of them, desperately trying to intercept. He looks over at Dany as Arya takes his last snowball to the chest, and the way her eyes shine, cheeks flushed and a wide smile upon her face as she meets his gaze, is unlike anything Jon has ever seen before. 

It’s the best he’s felt in a long time. 

***

The snowball fight between Jon and his siblings is fun— albeit exhausting and wet— but as the sun begins to sink lower in the sky, Dany is glad that they decide to head back. 

She had meant it when she’d told Jon that the mountain clearing looked like a place they could stay for a thousand years, and never have another worry again. But she’s cold from all the snowballs, and a hot shower sounds _so_ fantastic to her. 

They continue along the trek through the mountains, already on to the downward, easy part of the path when the sun begins to slip closer to the horizon, painting the sky brilliant shades of orange and pink and making the white snow appear to glow. Jon and Arya lead them, clearly more familiar with the trail, Ghost and Nymeria bounding along beside them. Dany watches, a fond smile pulling at her lips, as Jon reaches down to scratch Ghost’s ears affectionately, saying something to his dog that she doesn’t catch. 

She tries not to stare at Jon’s arse _too_ much, but she fails miserably at that. It’s right in front of her, anyways. She’s strong, but not _that_ strong.

Dany feels something nudge at her side, and she’s pulled from her reverie, jumping a bit as she turns to see Lady walking beside her, big brown eyes turned up towards her. Dany laughs, relaxing as Lady nuzzles at her hand sweetly. 

“Hello, girl,” she says, petting her smooth ears. Her coat of brown and grey is so different from Ghost, and yet Dany can still see the resemblance between them, the wildness lurking behind her intelligent eyes. 

“Are you behaving, Lady?” Sansa’s voice echoes from behind Dany, and she pauses a moment so that the other woman can fall in line with her and her dog. 

“She is,” Dany assures her. “She really is a sweetheart.” 

“She’s certainly the most gentle of all of them,” Sansa says, smiling affectionately at her dog. “People don’t believe me when I tell them she’s part wolf. They say she’s too sweet to have any wild animal in her.” 

“I can see it in her eyes,” Dany says, looking down to the dog next to her. Sansa smiles, before she huffs in laughter. 

“I can see it in the way she somehow always manages to find where I keep her food and rip the bag open. No matter how well I hide it.” At that, Dany laughs too. 

She’s still not entirely sure what to make of Jon’s eldest sister. When she’d met her for the first time, at the Get Out There event, she had sensed some apprehension in Sansa’s bright blue eyes. She’s spoken with her a few times now, since she arrived in the North, and she’s still not positive what the other woman thinks of her. 

“Daenerys,” Sansa says after a moment, her voice hushed, just for her to hear. Dany looks over, meeting the other woman’s eyes, startled a little by the look in them. 

“I wanted to apologize,” she says, finally, reaching down to stroke Lady’s head between them. “If I seemed cold towards you, or made you feel unwelcome at all this week. It wasn’t my intention at all.” 

Dany blinks, taken aback by her words. “You haven’t, don’t worry,” Dany assures her. She laughs a little. “I will admit, when we met the first time, I wasn't sure you liked me at all. But this week has been lovely, Sansa. Truly.” 

She smiles back at Dany, the warmth of it reaching her eyes. “I’m sorry for that, too,” she says. “I was a tad apprehensive when I met you at the event. I just—” she pauses, and Dany remains silent, letting her find the words as they continue down the trail. 

“I’m not sure how much Jon has told you, of his past. His time in the Watch,” Sansa says, and Dany starts. 

“A bit,” she admits. “He told me about the work he did beyond the Wall, and then that he was injured during a riot. Not much past that.” Sansa nods, looking down again. 

“He was in a dark place for a while,” she says. “And he’s better now, most of the time. But sometimes he’s not. It was terrible, what he went through.” She pauses, eyes locking back on Dany. “I won’t watch him hurt even more than he already does. I can’t bear to see him go through that again.” 

Dany’s heart pounds in her chest, and she nods at Sansa’s words, mouth too dry to voice any of her own. It’s clear, now, the reason behind Sansa’s apprehension— she’s being the protective sister, trying to shield Jon’s heart from any damage caused by _her._ Everything she feels for Jon suddenly becomes very real— it’s not some hypothetical anymore; there is something between the two of them, something that Sansa can see. It makes her want to run away and hide, but it also makes her heart feel like soaring. 

She looks at Jon again, the way he grins as he jokes with Arya, the setting sun casting a halo of light around his curls, and the fear disappears in an instant. All she’s left with is peace. 

“He cares for you,” Sansa says, voice softer. “Very much. I’m not sure you can see it, but I can.” Dany looks over, meeting the redhead’s eyes, and there’s an understanding that passes between them in that moment. 

“I care for him too,” Dany assures her. She’s not exactly sure how to articulate how _much_ Jon Snow has come to mean to her in the few months she’s known him, but it seems that just that sentiment is enough for Sansa.

“Good.” She nods, looking down to her dog again, scratching Lady’s ears. “He needs someone who does.” Dany’s heart leaps into her throat, and Sansa huffs a bit, eyes lifting up and landing on her brother. “He’s still not entirely convinced that he deserves to be happy.”

“He does,” Dany says with absolute certainty. Even if she is still sorting through her own feelings, the technicalities of them, that she knows beyond a single doubt. “More than anything,” she adds. “I’ve never met a man as good as he is.”

Sansa smiles, silence washing over them for a moment. “You came North for him, didn’t you?” she finally asks. 

Dany’s breath catches, and she’s terrified for a moment to admit to the truth. But still, she nods, Sansa’s eyes knowing. 

“I’m glad,” Sansa says. “I like you a lot, Daenerys. Completely separate from my brother’s feelings towards you. And I hope that we can be friends.”

Her heart swells, a smile pulling at her lips, unbidden. “I’d like that too, Sansa,” she says, and Jon’s sister beams back at her, the setting sun making her hair look like fire. 

“Another thing,” Sansa says after a moment, and Dany starts when she realizes Sansa looks _embarrassed._ “I was wondering if you would mind keeping everything that was said about Margaery at dinner yesterday to yourself,” she asks. She rolls her eyes. “Robb can be an absolute _prat_ sometimes. I said a lot of things that I’d like Margaery to hear from me first.” 

Dany smiles, thinking of Sansa’s admission of how much she liked the other woman. And now that she thinks about it, Margaery had vaguely mentioned a date a week or so ago, her face positively glowing as she’d let it slip. But she keeps that to herself as well. She’s sure Margaery will want to tell Sansa just how much she likes her herself too. 

“Don’t worry,” Dany says with a grin, and Sansa’s face relaxes, the two of them laughing together. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

Her heart feels lighter when they all get back into the car, and Dany finds it has very little to do with the fond look Jon gives her as she takes the seat next to him. 

***

Despite the beauty of the North, Dany is beyond relieved when the photoshoots are finally over.

She and Missandei climb into the back of the rental car after they wrap on Thursday, sighing in contentment as the heat starts and warm air blasts from the vents. They peel off their gloves, Dany humming happily as feeling returns to her fingers. “Thank the gods,” she says, holding her hands up to one of the vents. “I truly thought I might freeze solid.” 

“Me too,” Missandei says, leaning back in her seat, letting the hot air wash over her. “It makes me wonder how anyone survives the _true_ winter months up here.” 

They’re defrosted by the time they’re back at the hotel, Dany immediately peeling off all her layers once they’re in their room, shedding the thermal undershirt and pants that she is _beyond_ glad Jon insisted she get. But now, it seems, she’s traded freezing for hunger, her stomach growling as she pulls her jeans back on, tugging a sweater over her head as well. 

“Hungry?” Missandei asks with a smile, peeling off her woolen socks. Dany nods. 

“Starving,” she says. “We could get dinner downtown somewhere, if you’re hungry as well?” 

Missandei raises an eyebrow at her. “No plans with Jon tonight?” 

Dany shakes her head. “No, I have too much work to do afterwards. Plus, I’d like to spend some time with just _you.”_ She laughs, smiling at Missandei. “You know, this is the closest thing I’ve had to a vacation in years.” 

“I know,” Missandei assures her, before nodding. “Alright. Any ideas where to go?” 

The hotel concierge offers them the name of a cozy restaurant right down the street, barely a five minute walk from the hotel’s front doors. The delicious smell of food hits them the moment they walk inside, the hostess bringing them over to a table tucked away in the corner, right next to the window. 

It begins to snow at their waiter brings their drinks, both her and Missandei watching the delicate white flakes drift down outside the window with wonder. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Dany asks quietly, eyes still trained out the window. “Even after a week here, it still seems like… magic, or something.” 

Missandei hums in agreement. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.” She smiles. “I’m not sure about you, but I think it’s worth the extra work we’ll have next week. It’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere but King’s Landing.” 

Dany nods. “It’s definitely worth it. This week has been…” she sighs, taking a sip of her wine. “I know it’s not been a vacation, because we’ve had work to do, but it’s been so nice to see another part of the country. To get to explore everything up here.” She sets her wine glass down, thinking back to a different time, before work consumed every aspect of her life. 

“Gods, do you remember when we were in university, and we used to go away all the time?” Dany says, her voice wistful. Missandei nods, and her eyes hold just as much longing as Dany’s do. 

“I do. Feels like it’s from a different lifetime, doesn’t it?” Missandei asks. 

“Truly. Being here this week, it’s made me remember how much I miss it,” Dany says. “Getting to see new places. Exploring different parts of the country. It’s not really the same as getting to see everything through pictures and marketing photoshoots, is it?” 

“Not at all,” she agrees. Missandei smiles at Dany then, her eyes shining. “I still think about that trip to the Red Waste we took. I’d love to go back, eventually.” 

“Yes,” Dany says, sighing as she thinks back. That had been spring break of their freshman year, before things had gone bad with Drogo. There had been a school sponsored trip that she had convinced Missandei to come along on— she hadn’t even really been camping before, her hiking knowledge contained to easy day trips, but after that, she had tried to explore the world as much as she could. And they had met Irri on that trip, the three of them cementing their friendship out among the endless red dunes. 

“That trip was amazing,” Dany says. “I can still remember how far the desert stretched. It felt like there was nothing but us in the entire world.” 

“Even if I’m grateful now, I’m not sure how you convinced me to go on that at the time,” Missandei says, rolling her eyes fondly. Dany laughs. 

“You were my only friend, and I was desperate not to be alone,” she responds. 

“I always forget that was where we met Irri,” Missandei says. Their waiter reappears with their food, placing plates in front of them, Dany’s mouth watering at the smell. 

“And then we went to Naath with her that next summer,” Dany says, and Missandei hums contently— whether it’s from the food or the memories, Dany’s not sure. 

“That was so fun,” Missandei says, her eyes shining. “I loved getting to show you both my home. And then we went hiking in the rainforests, and swimming off the coast—” 

“Oh, it was fantastic,” Dany says, humming in delight. “That may still be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.” She takes a bite of her own food, sighing happily. Their concierge was right; it’s absolutely delicious. 

“More beautiful than those waterfalls Jon took you to?” Missandei asks, a smile tugging at her lips. Dany shrugs, considering it. 

“It’s a different kind of beauty, I think,” she says. “Seeing all the fields of white here, things frozen over and covered in snow, it’s unbelievable. But I’m not sure I can compare it to something like Naath. They’re just so different.” 

Missandei hums in agreement. “I forget how much more of the world is out there,” Dany adds. “There’s still so much that I’ve only seen from photographs. So many places so different from each other.” 

They eat their meals in comfortable silence, Dany savoring the rich Northern comfort food that warms her up from her head to her toes, chasing away any lingering trace of cold from the day spent in the mountains. She looks up when she feels Missandei looking at her, narrowing her eyes curiously at her friend’s pensive gaze. 

“What is it?” she asks. Missandei bites at her lip, and Dany can see the hesitance in her eyes, like she’s unsure she wants to speak. 

“Missandei,” Dany says, arching an eyebrow. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” 

Missandei shrugs, eyeing Dany warily. “You know, when you told me we were coming north for this, I was… skeptical, I guess. I know what being away from work does to you generally, and I thought you would be even more stressed than usual, trying to keep up with the workload.” She pauses, taking another bite of her dinner. “But I can’t even count the number of times I’ve seen you put your laptop aside to go hiking this week, or pushed off doing more work so that you can explore the North more.” 

Dany’s stomach sinks, because Missandei has a good point. She has been fairly reckless with her work this week. “I know,” she admits. “And I’ll have hell to pay for it when I get back next week— I’ll probably have to work through the next few weekends—” 

“No, Daenerys, that’s not what I mean,” Missandei interrupts, her voice gentle. “I mean that I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you so _happy._ When we were out in the mountains, or when you got back from the waterfalls with Jon— it’s like a missing part of you was back. It reminds me of when we used to go hiking in college.” 

Dany freezes, taken aback. She hadn’t really considered it in the moment, but now that she thinks about it— she hasn’t felt _any_ desperate anxiety over all the work that will be waiting for her when she gets back. And when she was out exploring the North with Jon and his siblings, she truly _had_ been happy. Work has been a shield for her for so long, something to throw herself into completely in order to distract from feeling _other_ things, that she hadn’t even realized, when she stopped burying herself in it, that she hadn’t needed the shield anymore. 

“I just wonder,” Missandei says, pressing on. “I know how much you love your job. There’s nothing wrong with that, either. But sometimes I worry you work so much that you’ll never know anything in life _but_ your job. Or that you’ll burn yourself out much too soon, with all you do.” She pauses, meeting Dany’s eyes, and she can see nothing but pure, genuine concern in her best friend’s gaze. “And after seeing you this week, or even after the Get Out There campaign… I just wonder if there’s any way you could take more time for yourself. Go on a hike on the weekend, or go on holiday to somewhere new. Get to go see more of the world.”

Dany drops her gaze, looking down at the table. “I don’t know,” she says truthfully. “I’ll already have so much work to make up from this one week, and that’s just because I’m working out of the office. If I ever took a _true_ vacation…” She shakes her head. “I’d shudder to see what the team would do without me. I’d need more people, if I ever wanted to consider it.” 

“I’m not sure,” Missandei concedes. “Something to consider, I suppose. You could always talk to Olenna, see if they’d be willing to expand your team. I just think it’s unreasonable to expect you to do the amount of work that you do.” She smiles at Dany, the corners of her lips pulling up in sympathy. “You deserve to have a life outside of your job.” 

Dany ponders that as they finish their meal. She can’t even _remember_ the last time she took a vacation. Ever since she had gotten the job with Tyrell, she’s just buried herself into her work. She loves what she does, and it had just seemed— natural. Easier. 

But it’s also hard to deny the feeling of contentment that had flooded her during her explorations of the Northern wilderness this week. The way that everything she saw just made her want to see _more._

Dany’s never really put thought behind the possibility of taking on _less_ responsibility in her job. She’s always been the type of person to add to her workload instead of dole it out to other people. Not that she doesn’t trust others to do the job correctly— it’s just that she’d rather do more. Keep herself busy. But as she mulls over Missandei’s words, there’s a part of her that _wonders—_ wonders what it would be like to have time to do things for herself. To have time to go out and explore the world. To focus on things other than just work.

The thought used to absolutely terrify her. But now, it almost seems _exciting._

So when they get back to the hotel and Dany opens her phone to see a text message from Jon asking if she and Missandei want to come with him tomorrow night to some lake to see something, she barely gives any thought to the stacks of work that have been piling up all week. Instead, she asks Missandei what she thinks, and once she has her answer, she texts him back to tell him they’d love to. 

Maybe she _does_ deserve to live a little more. 

***

It’s been forever since Jon has been to Long Lake. 

Years, at least. The last time he had come here had been summer, too, Ghost barely only six months old. Sansa and Arya had dragged him out of the house, and the three of them had hiked the mountains right beside it. The last time he had been here in the winter, he was only a boy. 

It’s worth the two hour drive, though, and he knows Dany will think so too as soon as she sees what they’ve come for. She’s been amazed by the harsh beauty of the North all week, but this— this is truly magical. 

“We’re here,” Jon says, pulling the car to a stop next to Robb’s. Arya exhales in relief, throwing the door open the moment he’s in park, circling around back to let the dogs out. Sansa and Missandei climb out of the back as well, but Jon’s eyes are on Dany, watching her as she takes in the scenery around them, the frozen lake and snowy mountains. Her brow furrows a little, so slight that most people might not notice, but he sees it. 

“What?” he asks, and she turns towards him, her lips ticking up in the hint of a smile. 

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head, even though it’s clearly _something._ “It’s just…” she bites at her lip, and Jon just waits, staying silent so she can find the words. 

“It’s beautiful,” she says, eyes on the landscape again. “But it looks like the mountains where the waterfall was. And that wasn’t a two hour drive away.” 

He smiles, unclipping his seatbelt. “It’s different,” he says, with a shake of his head. “You’ll see. Trust me.” 

She doesn’t say anything, but Jon can see it in her eyes— the way she’s saying _I do._ His heart thumps at that, only shaken from his stupor when Dany opens the car door, hopping out to join his siblings and Missandei. 

The dogs are all chasing each other through the snow, Arya keeping a watchful eye on them as Sansa and Missandei spread out waterproof blankets in the snow for them to sit on. He catches Robb’s eye from the driver’s seat of his car— he didn’t want Talisa to sit and wait in the cold, so they’re both still in his car, the heat on to keep them warm, though Bran and Rickon are outside, getting Shaggydog, Summer, and Grey Wind out of the back. 

“I’m not saying I don’t trust you,” Dany says, wrapping her arms around herself, bouncing slightly to keep warm. “But I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be seeing.” 

“Believe me,” he says, smiling at her. “You’ll know when you see it.” 

“How long now?” Rickon asks, sitting down next to Bran on one of the blankets, Shaggydog collapsing happily at his feet. The dogs, at least, are unperturbed by the cold. 

“Could be minutes,” Arya says with a shrug. “Could also be hours.” 

“Gods, I hope not,” Bran says, twisting around to look at Arya. She just smirks unapologetically. 

“Well, lucky for all of you, I brought this,” Sansa says, a triumphant smile across her face as she holds up that _godsdamn_ portable campfire he’d given her. Jon groans, tipping his head back, and he can hear Dany’s laughter next to him, Missandei joining in as well. 

“I could build you a _real_ fire, you know,” Jon insists, but Sansa just glares at him, setting it up in front of the blankets. 

“With what firewood?” she demands. He’s about to retort that he could find _something_ when he feels Dany lean into him, her gloved hand taking his, making his heart thump, his words lost. 

“Just let her have this, Jon,” she whispers, a smile pulling at her lips. And he’s not really of the mind to deny her _anything,_ so he does. Instead, he squeezes Dany’s hand, leading her over to the empty blanket. Missandei moves to sit next to them, but Ghost bounds over from where he was rolling through the snow, plopping down next to them and spreading out so he takes up the rest of the room, tail thumping against Dany’s leg. 

“Stop it, you blanket hog,” Jon mutters, leaning over to shove Ghost gently so he’ll get up. He whines, his head turning towards Jon with a look in his eyes that is so _clearly_ offense that he would _dare_ try to move him that Jon almost laughs. 

“It’s alright,” Missandei says, leaning down to pat Ghost’s head affectionately. “There’s room on the other blanket.” 

“Are you sure, Dei?” Dany says, brow furrowed adorably. Missandei just smirks, giving her friend a knowing look.

“Yes, I’m sure. You two stay here.” She smiles cheekily at them, and Jon’s heart thumps at the implications dancing in Missandei’s eyes, remembering her words from the other day. He still can’t really believe that Dany may feel the same way as he does, but ever since she’d told him so, his heart has felt so much lighter. 

Sansa makes them hot chocolate with her campstove, and Jon has to admit it _is_ delicious, warming him up from head to toe. Although, he thinks, that warmth could have something to do with the woman tucked into his side, her gloved hands clutching a mug of cocoa herself, her nose and cheeks rosy from the cold. She truly does look like some sort of winter goddess, her moonbeam hair shining brighter than the snow in the firelight, smile wide as she laughs along to some story Arya’s telling. He’s barely listening to his sister, really. All of his attention is focused on Daenerys— enough so that he can see her shiver, clutching her mug of cocoa tighter. 

“You cold?” he asks her, voice quiet and just for her. She looks over at him, a little smile tugging at her lips, eyes shining in the moonlight. 

“Am I that predictable?” she responds, and Jon can’t help but smile. Emboldened by the warmth of her gaze, he slowly wraps an arm around her shoulders, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. But she doesn’t— instead, she scoots closer to him, their bodies pressed together, warmth flowing through him as she leans into him. Ghost looks up curiously from his spot at their feet— the dogs had tired themselves out about an hour ago, now content to lounge across the blankets with everyone else, but Ghost has been at their feet the entire time, warding anyone else off from sitting next to them. 

“No,” Jon assures her, his heart thumping at the contented little hum she gives him. “It’s just cold up here, for a southern girl.” 

“Well,” she says, turning her head to meet his eyes. There’s a sparkle in them that makes his stomach swoop, and now more than ever, he acknowledges just how far gone he is over this woman. “You’ve been doing a fairly good job of keeping me warm.” 

Jon’s not sure what to respond to that, but she saves him from words— instead, she rests her head on his shoulder, sighing contently when he tightens his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer. 

 “It should be starting soon,” Arya says a moment later, surveying the sky. “It’s a pretty clear night. I can’t imagine not being able to see it.” 

He can feel Dany shift against him, raising her head slightly to meet Arya’s eyes. “See what?” she asks, but then Rickon gasps, everyone turning towards him. 

“Look!” he says, gesturing up towards the sky. Ghost’s ears perk up as everyone follows his hand, all of them in awe of the lights that have finally appeared, streaks of turquoise and green painting the inky night sky. 

“Oh my gods,” Missandei whispers, and Sansa, next to her, nods excitedly. Ghost rises from his spot at their feet, padding over so he can sit next to Dany, even _his_ eyes seemingly trained on the sky. 

“See?” Jon whispers to Dany, eyes still fixed on the lights dancing above, moving in lazy curves above the peaks of the mountains. 

“Yes,” Dany breathes, and he can tell, even without looking at her, she’s awestruck. Something almost like pride settles in his chest, preening a bit at being able to share this magical part of his home with her. 

“The Northern Lights,” she says, voice still quiet, captivated. “I never thought I’d see them in real life.” 

“Well, you have now,” Jon tells her, his hand running over her shoulder absentmindedly. “What do you think?” 

“It’s _breathtaking,”_ Dany says, eyes never leaving the sky. “It’s like magic, or something.” 

They all watch the sky in wonder, _oohing_ and _ahhing_ as the Northern Lights dance, bright as jewels in the inky black night. It’s the brightest Jon’s ever seen them— granted, he hasn’t seen them in _years,_ but he doesn’t remember them being this brilliant, this enchanting. 

Then again, it might just be Dany next to him, her quiet gasps of delight as the colors shift and fade, the way she grabs his hand and squeezes it tight when a streak of purple appears among the turquoise. 

Jon tears his eyes away from the sky, turning instead to survey the woman beside him. His breath catches at the look on her face— eyes wide, lips parted in wonder, the corners of her mouth tugging up in a smile. Her cheeks are still rosy from the cold, and he wants to pull her in even closer to him, hold her tight and let the warmth that flows through him every time he so much as _looks_ at her protect them both from the chill. 

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, he’s certain, even with the lights dancing above them in the sky. 

Jon can’t remember the last time he felt like this about a woman. He had loved Ygritte, certainly, but their relationship had been different— born from passion and fire, flames consuming them both hungrily until everything had turned to ash, falling apart before them. What he feels for Dany is entirely something else, in ways he can’t even describe, can’t even wrap his mind around. She fills him with fire still, but it’s a gentle heat; steady, not consuming. Over the past three years, he’s acquiesced to the truth that he’ll never have anything like this again. And yet, with Dany, there is this undeniable _hope_ that fills him, foolish though it may be. 

“Jon?” Dany asks, her voice practically a whisper, and his heart thumps as her eyes meet his, the blue in them shining brighter under the Northern Lights. “What is it?” 

“Nothin’,” he whispers. _It’s just you,_ he thinks, but he knows Dany’s not ready to hear anything like that from him. He remembers Missandei’s warning— her insistence that Dany feels something for him as well, even if she’s still too scared to admit it to herself.  But he’s not going to push her, not going to force her to confront her feelings before she’s ready. He can be patient, and wait for her to figure them out herself. 

She searches his eyes, and Jon’s heart stutters, caught in her gaze. He thinks that she can see right through him, right to his heart, sometimes, with the way she looks at him. 

It takes him a moment to realize she’s leaned into him, the lights dancing above dimming in comparison to the way her hair shines in the moonlight, like spun silver. He doesn’t think even _she_ notices it; it’s like there’s some unbreakable force between them, pulling them to one another. One of her hands drifts up, resting on his shoulder, as she draws closer to him, her forehead pressing against his gently. 

Jon’s heart pounds, loud enough in his ears that he can’t hear anything else, can’t focus on anything but _Dany,_ the rest of the world fading away. The hand that had been covering her shoulder snakes around to cup the back of her head, and he wishes he wasn’t wearing _gloves,_ that he could feel the soft silk of her hair against his fingers. Dany inhales, and Jon’s eyes slide closed, lost in her— he can breathe in her scent, feel the heat radiating off her skin, her nose nudging his gently. Her lips are _so_ close to his that he can feel them move with every exhale, and all he wants is to lean in just a bit farther, capture them with his, kiss her breathless underneath the Northern Lights, whose beauty pale in comparison to hers. 

“Jon,” she whispers, so quiet that he feels it more than hears it. He hums in response, but he doesn’t get one from her. Instead, Dany leans forward, her lips _finally_ touching his.

Jon doesn’t breathe, barely moving. Her kiss is feather light, hardly even there, but there’s no denying the sweetness of her mouth, the softness of her lips as they brush against his. He wants to pull her closer, to kiss her deeper, to find out what she _truly_ tastes like, but there’s another part of him that doesn’t want this to end, this ghost of a kiss as light as butterfly wings. So instead he just holds her, lips moving to kiss her back just as gently. 

She pulls away a second later, Jon’s eyes slowly drifting open to take her in, heart still hammering in his chest. She’s staring at him with a look that knocks whatever air is left in his lungs right out— her eyes are so wide _,_ mouth parted ever so slightly, the golden flecks in her irises darkening as he studies them. She exhales shakily, her eyes darting back and forth between his as she searches for something, and that’s when he sees the apprehension in her gaze, the truth of what just happened beginning to sink in. 

Jon can’t take her doubting herself, for thinking that for even one moment what she just did was a mistake, so he leans back in, lips finding hers again, pulling her closer. 

Dany gives in in an instant, melting into him as he kisses her again, properly this time. He pulls her bottom lip between his, his mind incapable of registering anything other than how sweet her mouth tastes, how wonderful it feels to have her sigh into him, a contented hum rumbling through him as he cradles her head, pulling her closer. Dany kisses him back just as warmly, and it’s a thousand times better than anything his mind could conjure, the feeling of her lips moving against his making his stomach swoop, more wonderful than he could ever dream. 

They pull apart gently, foreheads still touching, and Jon opens his eyes again, searching hers for that doubt he’d found earlier. But it’s gone, instead replaced by dazzling affection, the corners of her mouth ticking up in a little grin that he knows mirrors his own. 

“Hi,” she whispers, so low he barely hears it, and Jon chuckles, nudging her nose with his. 

“Hi,” he answers, and her eyes squeeze shut, face scrunched up so adorably that it makes his heart ache. The look on her face as her beautiful eyes drift open again is one Jon has never seen on her before— she looks hesitant, almost nervous. It’s such a change from the fiery, confident, determined woman he sees at Tyrell. And yet, it’s still _Dany_ underneath, this woman he is head over heels for, who he’s willing to cross rivers and climb mountains to reach. And it makes his heart thump even faster, knowing that he strips her as bare as she does him. 

He presses a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips, unable to help himself, and her smile grows a little wider, a little more confident. He wants to wrap her up in his arms, assuage any fears that are haunting her, reassure her that no matter what, he’ll be here, and he’ll be patient, and understanding. He’ll be whatever she wants him to be for her. 

But then a dog barks, and Dany jumps, the shiny bubble surrounding them shattering as she pulls away from him. Ghost, still sitting next to her, growls at Summer and Shaggydog in warning, like he too is mad that their playing disturbed this moment between Jon and Dany. His heart speeds up, suddenly remembering where they are— in the middle of _nowhere,_ surrounded by his bloody siblings, who are the nosiest people he knows. He surveys the lot of them quickly, relieved to find no one else seems to have seen what transpired— Lady still naps next to Sansa, Missandei and Arya on her other side have their eyes cast towards the sky, and his brothers are either watching the lights or the dogs. But still, even as Dany retreats back into herself, pulling back so that she’s just sitting next to him again, Jon feels like there are eyes on him, watching him, making his skin crawl uncomfortably. 

He turns, and realizes that _Robb_ has been watching the two of them, a shit eating grin stretching across his face as Talisa leans against his arm in the front seat of the car. Jon narrows his eyes at his brother, flipping him off subtly before turning back around, back to Dany. 

It terrifies him suddenly, a part of him scared shitless she’ll push him away again, like she did that day in the office after the event in the Kingswood. As much as he wants to give her space, let her figure this out for herself, if she pretends that kiss never happened and shuts him out again, after everything that’s happened this week, he’ll be devastated.

But even as he thinks that, Dany hesitantly draws closer to him, her warmth flooding him as her body presses against his side once again. She doesn’t turn to look at him, but she reaches over, taking his hand in hers, and Jon’s heart beats so fast that he thinks it may just burst from his chest. 

They leave not long after, everyone sufficiently dazzled by the Northern Lights and almost half frozen. The ride back to Winterfell is quiet, subdued, but there’s a peace between him and Dany; he can feel it between them, see her contentment every time he meets her eyes where she sits in the passenger seat. When they finally reach her and Missandei’s hotel, he doesn’t even think— he just gets out of the car as well. 

“Thank you so much for this, Jon,” Missandei says, surprising him by pulling him into a warm hug. He gives her a smile back— he’s always liked Missandei immensely, but this week has just furthered his opinion of her. She may just be the kindest person he’s ever met. “This was truly incredible.” 

“Of course,” he tells her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m just glad it worked out, and you got to see them.” 

She offers him one last warm smile, before touching Dany’s arm gently, telling her friend she’ll be in the lobby. Dany turns to Jon once they’re alone, her expression unreadable, her eyes captivating. 

“You fly out tomorrow morning?” he asks, just to fill the silence. She nods slowly, her gaze never leaving his. 

“Have a safe flight, then,” he tells her, and she grins a little. 

“When will you be back?” she asks, her words coming out in a rush, not anywhere near as careful and measured as she normally speaks. His heart speeds up a little at the observation, the thought that he has the same effect on her that she does on him.

“We’ll probably leave Sunday morning,” he tells her. “So late Monday, I suppose.” 

She just nods, absorbing his words. As much as he would like to draw closer to her, kiss her again and banish any fears she may have, Jon can tell that there’s something she wants to say. So he remains quiet, letting her speak on her own time. 

“I… would you maybe want to have lunch again, on Tuesday? At that same café?” she asks, and his brows raise, taken utterly aback by her words. She shrugs, almost self consciously, and Jon just wants to wrap her up in his arms, smooth all her worries from her brow, kiss her sweetly until she never doubts that he would do _anything_ for her ever again. 

“It was a nice break in the day,” she says, as though she needs to explain herself. Jon doesn’t need a reason, though— any excuse to spend more time with her, he’ll gladly take. Especially on something that sounds like a bloody _date._

“I’d love to,” he tells her, and her responding smile is warm, small but bright, making his heart hum in his chest.  

Before he can say anything else, she’s moving forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as she rises on tiptoe. She hesitates, eyes closing as her nose brushes his, just a breath away from him, and Jon can’t stand it, leaning down to capture her lips with his, heart humming happily as she smiles into the kiss. 

There is nothing in the _world_ like kissing Daenerys Targaryen, Jon thinks, his hands dropping to her waist as her lips press to his, pulling her body into him. Her mouth is the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, her perfume like lemons and spice and _completely_ intoxicating. He could stand here for the rest of his life and kiss her, and he wouldn’t have a single regret.

She pulls away a little, lingering in his space, and he presses another kiss to her lips before she drops back down from her toes, glancing up at him through her lashes. His heart speeds up, chest feeling so much lighter than it _ever_ has, and as she looks at him, blue eyes shining in the hotel lights, he realizes that he feels completely and undeniably _whole._

“Thank you for everything this week,” she murmurs, and he nods, thumbs rubbing against her sides involuntarily. She pulls away, and he lets her go, missing the warmth of her body immediately. 

“Anytime,” he tells her, shoving his hands in his pockets again so that he won’t grab her and gather her up in his arms, refuse to ever let her go.“I’m glad you both had a good time.” She smiles at him, just slightly, the corner of her mouth ticking up, but he can see all the emotion in her eyes, the things she’s left unsaid. 

“Was it worth the extra work you’ll have next week?” he asks, mostly in jest, but there’s a part of him that wonders if she regrets coming north. If this trip will only make her miserable in time to come. 

She laughs, though, her eyes alight. “Definitely.” She smiles at him again, her eyes seemingly searching his for something, before she turns her head, looking back over her shoulder at the hotel. 

“I should go,” she whispers, like a confession. He nods, though he can’t help the disappointment that floods him at the thought— she has to leave, obviously, but he wants nothing more than just to stay here with her forever. 

“Good night, Jon,” she says, with one last smile. “I’ll see you Tuesday.” It’s a statement, but her voice makes it sound almost like a question, like she needs his reassurance before she slips back inside. 

“Aye, Tuesday,” he says. And then before he can stop himself— “I’m looking forward to it.” 

Her eyes soften, flooding with warmth, and she offers him one last goodbye before she goes back inside, disappearing into the warm glow of the hotel lobby. 

Jon returns to his car, thinking, for once, that he can’t wait to get back to King’s Landing.

***

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48828428858/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I didn’t want to actually do market research because this is technically for fun so everything Dany says during dinner is based on assumptions and a very brief google search. Pls do not cite it as a source in any academic papers THANK YOU
> 
> Also, to the approximately 80 people who commented on the last chapter saying LET THEM KISS- you're welcome 😁😁


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King’s Landing is warm. Too warm, almost. It seems impossible that a place like the North can exist in the same world as this one, that a place filled with wonder and almost magic is only a few hours away from this balmy, fast paced city. She tries to picture the streets of King’s Landing covered in a fresh dusting of snow, and the image seems absurd. 
> 
> She’d just left this morning, but already the North feels like some far off, distant, wonderful dream. The kind you never want to stop having, where you roll over in bed and press your face into the pillows in a desperate attempt to will yourself back into that safe, wonderful world your mind has created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! 
> 
> SO I know I promised no more long waits, and I know I totally broke that promise. I wanted to write a bunch of different aus for AU Month in October and all of them snowballed and got WAY longer than I anticipated (in which I am the only one who was shocked.) I also got a full time job REALLY fast last month-- as in, I was scouted, interviewed, and then offered the position all within a week and a half. Working full time has been an adjustment and a half, but I am determined to finish this story up by Christmas, and I think after getting this BEAST of a chapter done in two weeks, I'm pretty on track! 
> 
> A million thanks as always to Fer and Giulia for betaing and cheerleading me through this. I love this chapter so much, guys. Even though it's technically called "Chapter 9: Chapter 8," which yes, is totally bugging me. WHATEVER. Moving on. 
> 
> ALSO! In the spirit of being festive, I am hosting a Holiday Jonerys Fic Giveaway, in which you enter with a fic prompt and I pick a winner randomly and write their fic for Christmas! You don't have to have a tumblr OR an AO3 to participate-- check out the post [here on my tumblr](https://stilesssolo.tumblr.com/post/189111174779/stilesssolo-jonerys-holiday-fic) if you'd like to enter! 
> 
> I am really hopeful that I can get another chapter of this up very, very soon, we will see! In the meantime, I hope you all like this! I'd love to know what you think of it :) Enjoy!!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/49072260166/in/dateposted-public/)

The entire flight back to King’s Landing doesn’t truly feel real. 

 Sitting on the plane feels like she’s stuck in a liminal space, neither what came before or what comes after really existing. She opens her laptop, and answers emails, and gets her work done, like always. But it feels inconsequential. Insignificant. She’s just doing it because it’s what she’s always done. 

Work is what Dany knows. She goes through the motions because it keeps her mind off the what weres and the what ifs. 

It somehow feels like no time at all before the plane is landing, and they’re grabbing their luggage from the baggage claim, and their uber is dropping Missandei off. The shine of the past week begins to wear off as Dany climbs the steps to her apartment, suitcase rolling behind her. 

King’s Landing is warm. _Too_ warm, almost. It seems impossible that a place like the North can exist in the same world as this one, that a place filled with wonder and almost _magic_ is only a few hours away from this balmy, fast paced city. She tries to picture the streets of King’s Landing covered in a fresh dusting of snow, and the image seems absurd. 

She’d just left this morning, but already the North feels like some far off, distant, wonderful dream. The kind you never want to stop having, where you roll over in bed and press your face into the pillows in a desperate attempt to will yourself back into that safe, wonderful world your mind has created. 

In all honesty, it’s the same thing that often wakes her from those dreams that snaps her back to reality now— her cats. 

“Oh, loves,” she croons as they rush to her at the door, meowing as if she’s been gone years, not days. She shuts the apartment door gracelessly, leaving her suitcase right next to it and sinking to her knees so her cats can crawl into her lap. Drogon is the first there— of course— purring furiously as he rubs up against her hand, his fur as soft as velvet against her palm. Viserion stretches up to butt her chin with his head, Rhaegal cramming his way underneath her arms to share in the pats, much to Drogon’s disdain. 

“I missed you three so much,” Dany says, making sure all her boys receive equal attention. “Was Aunt Irri good to you while I was gone?” 

Eventually they all get up off the floor, though Drogon refuses to be put down, clinging to her needily as she wheels her suitcase into the bedroom. Dany returns to the sofa a moment later, leaving her laptop and her work in the other room. 

She’ll deal with it later. For now, she just wants to cuddle her cats. 

All three of them pile into her lap as she leans back into the soft cushions, purring like mad as she runs her fingers through their fur. Rhaegal opens one large, pale green eye at her, almost as if he’s chiding her for not dozing off as well, and she just chuckles as he rests his head against Viserion’s body, all of them tangled up together like they used to do when they were kittens. The week up North spent running through the snow with Ghost had been fun, but she had missed her cats terribly. 

She lets her eyes slide closed as she mindlessly scratches behind Viserion’s ears, his rumbling purr almost lulling her to sleep. She knows she probably has hours of work she’d neglected all week she should be getting to, but all Dany really wants is to sit here and not move, revel in the peace and calm of her almost-vacation for just a moment more. 

Oh, the North. It had been everything she had imagined and _more,_ somehow. And even with the freezing cold temperatures, it had been worth it for all the wonder she’d gotten to see. The waterfalls in the clearing, frozen mist drifting up into the sky. The snow falling in the mountains, like diamonds floating down from above. The brilliant red of the weirwood leaves against the frosty godswood. The dancing colors of the Northern Lights, illuminating the night sky. 

And Jon. _Oh,_ Jon. 

Dany can’t help the smile that creeps across her face at the thought of that night, the memory of Jon’s lips against hers making her giggle like a maiden. There had just been something so _magical_ about it— from the lights above to the way Jon had looked at her, her heart positively racing in her chest as she had finally just stopped thinking, forcing all her fears from her mind and giving in to her feelings. Missandei had given her a knowing smile when she finally returned to the hotel, her cheeks still flushed from her and Jon’s goodbye, her best friend nudging her with her hip as they’d walked back to the elevators. 

And now she’s getting lunch with Jon on Tuesday again, butterflies fluttering in her stomach at just the thought. When she had planned on asking him, she had meant it as a casual, friendly thing— a good break in her day, just like she had said— but now it feels like more. Now it feels like a date. And even though the thought of one of those makes nerves twist inside her a bit, there’s no denying the overwhelming excitement bubbling up at the thought of sitting across one of those little café tables with Jon, talking about things other than just his sponsorship. 

Drogon mewls at her, batting at her hand, and she realizes she had absentmindedly stopped stroking him. “Oh, calm down,” she says, dropping a kiss on her cat’s head, scratching him right behind his ears in the way he likes as he purrs again. 

A little while later she finally disentangles herself from Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, the three of them trailing after her as she unpacks her suitcase and plugs her laptop back in to charge. She’ll get to her emails tonight, maybe. Or perhaps tomorrow. It _is_ Saturday, anyways, and traveling days are always exhausting. 

Dany hums as she puts away her clothes, throwing a load of all the dirty ones from the past week in the washer, grabbing a hanger from her front hall closet to put her white winter coat on. Her fingers run over the soft fur that trims the hood as she hangs it up, smiling a little at the thought of Jon across from her at that café table, helping her pick it out. At the memory of his hands bunching in it as he’d pulled her closer in the mountains, the sound of the camera’s shutter hardly phasing her as they’d posed together for the photoshoot. And at the way it had hardly seemed necessary under the Northern Lights, the heat of his arms around her keeping her much warmer than any article of clothing ever could. 

It’s been almost a whole day, and she still can’t stop thinking about last night. About that shine in Jon’s eyes, that affectionate little smile of his, the way he’d held her to him like there was nothing else in the entire world that mattered. About how it had felt to finally kiss him, to have him kiss her back. 

She still can’t really believe that she’d _kissed_ him. Just days ago, she’d admitted to herself that maybe, _maybe,_ she could truly have feelings for him, and then she’d closed the distance between them, falling into his warmth, and now they’re going on a bloody _date_ on Tuesday. 

Dany closes the closet door, going back to her bedroom, her mind still reeling. 

She can’t even remember the last time she’d gone on a date. Daario had never really been anything _official,_ per se. Had he taken her out to dinner ever? She can’t recall. Nerves twist in her stomach, trying to remember. Drogo had, of course. But thinking back to that… 

It’s a dark, slippery slope, recalling her past with Drogo. She tries never to go there. But thinking about it now, she can’t help but remember how it had started out. It had been so _good_ in the beginning. Drogo had been kind, and charming, and wonderful. And then she had seen his true colors, and everything had just… fallen apart. And she had been left in pieces. 

 _Stop it,_ she chides herself. She doesn’t want to have any connection in her mind between Jon and Drogo.  Jon isn’t like that. Jon is the _farthest_ thing from Drogo. Everything her ex had done to her, had put her through… Jon would never do that to her. She knows it in her heart. 

But the fear is still there, impossible to banish. What ifs and could bes haunt her mind, torturing her with worst case scenarios. And maybe it’s for good reason. A few weeks ago she was sobbing on the couch, so overwhelmed by the possibility of having feelings for Jon, fear twisting her stomach into knots. And whatever this is between them now— it feels _big,_ bigger and more significant than any other possible relationships have in her past. It still scares her half to death, thinking about her feelings for Jon. Even after she’d kissed him the first time, her heart had been beating so frantically that she thought it may jump from her chest, nerves fraying as she’d realized what she’d just done. Is she really ready for something like this? Can she let go of her fear and _be_ with him, truly? 

 _Enough,_ her mind snaps. She likes Jon. She does. And clearly he feels the same way about her, if his actions up North are any indication. Just because it’s been ages since she’s felt anything like this doesn’t mean that this is all a mistake. It’s like Missandei always tells her, she deserves to be happy. And even if all of this still terrifies her, Jon _does_ make her happy. 

But still. That niggling doubt refuses to go away, insisting that even if she _thinks_ she’s ready for whatever this is, she’s not truly. That regardless of how happy Jon makes her feel sometimes, her heart still isn’t to be trusted. 

After all, putting her faith in it before has burned her terribly. 

Rhaegal picks his way across her big empty bed, climbing into her lap as she perches on the edge, rubbing his body up against her. “What do you think, sweet?” Dany asks, and he turns his head, peering up at her with big green eyes. “Do you think I made a mistake?” 

He meows at her, smushing his head into her hand, making her laugh as she tickles behind his ears. “You’re right,” she says. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” 

Yes, her heart has betrayed her before. And it’s terrifying to think of trusting it again. But maybe if she _does,_ in the end, it will be worth it. Won’t it be, to be with Jon? To feel like she had underneath the Northern Lights all the time? 

She lifts Rhaegal off of her, despite his protests. She needs to stop overthinking this, and just _trust_ herself. But when it comes to matters of the heart, that never comes easily to her. 

She stands up again to finish unpacking her suitcase, determined to push the doubts from her mind. 

It proves harder than expected. 

She goes about the rest of the day, mind battling over whether or not she made a mistake, acting on her feelings. She climbs into the shower Saturday night, hoping the hot water will ease her troubled mind, untangle her confused thoughts. But it does the opposite, bringing all her doubts right up to the surface.  

It’s hard, trying to forget her past, move beyond it all and just _trust._ She’s still not entirely sure it’s something she can do. Especially because of how things had gone the last time she tried to move on and listen to her heart. Daario was supposed to prove to her that she _was_ capable of feeling something for someone again, and all her relationship— for lack of a better term— with him had done was reassure her that her heart was too damaged for anything meaningful ever again. 

Dany scrubs shampoo out of her hair, and the terrifying thought hits her— what if her feelings for Jon aren’t actually _real?_

Because that’s what had happened with Daario. It was good in the beginning—  he was charming, and nice to her, and he certainly had an interest in her, that was undeniable. And it had been years since Drogo, since she’d even tried to have a relationship with someone else. He was more than alright with keeping things much more casual between the two of them. And she had thought she liked him. But as time went on, as his feelings for her seemed to grow stronger and he wanted more with her, Dany had realized it wasn’t truly Daario she liked. It had been the idea of him that had pulled her in. She had liked him because he had liked her, and no one had felt that way for her in a long, long time. 

When she’d finally called it off, he had been devastated. He had been in love with her. And she had felt nothing— nothing at all. Just impatience to be rid of him, to not have to pretend anymore. 

 _It’s not that way with Jon,_ she tells herself, but that voice in her head doesn’t sound as convincing anymore. 

Gods, maybe she _has_ made a huge mistake. Up North, nestled in cozy pubs and shivering on snowy mountainsides, sitting underneath the Northern Lights, everything had felt a bit magical. A bit surreal. But here in King’s Landing, the reality fades back in, that shine everything had had in Winterfell wearing off. She had been so certain, when she’d leaned in and kissed Jon, smiling against his lips as he’d kissed her back. But now, in the bright light of her apartment, as hot water beats against her back, she’s not so sure. 

What if she’d just gotten caught up in the moment? What if she’d let the beauty of the Northern Lights cloud her judgement, lead her to a rash decision? It’s been so long since she’s done this; she can’t even remember how it’s supposed to go. How she’s supposed to know if this is _real_ or not. 

It had felt so real at the time, but now— now she doesn’t know anymore. All her relationships in the past have ended in _disaster,_ the cracks in her heart from the aftermath still there now. It _feels_ real, and right, the way her heart speeds up when Jon looks at her in that way he does, the way she misses him when they’ve been apart, the way his little half-smiles make her stomach swoop. But how does she know that it isn’t all some illusion? Just her heart latching onto the idea of a person, the hope that someone could fix it up? 

Dany turns off the shower, the absence of the hot water against her back immediately making her shiver. She needs to clear her mind, stop overthinking things. As she towels her hair dry, she tries to force down the doubts, focus instead on anything else. 

The feeling of Jon’s lips against hers comes to mind, helping distract her. The way he’d pulled her right into him, kissing her eagerly before she’d gone back into the hotel. That pretty mouth of his was even more lovely pressed against hers, the scrape of his beard against her skin making her stomach flip, the feel of his hands on her making her blood run hot. 

The memory of their kiss just makes her feel more conflicted. What she needs now is a distraction. 

She walks back into her room, dressing in her pajamas quickly, eyeing her laptop. She should work, probably. She has _so_ much to catch up on from last week, that she knows. And going through emails and getting things done for Tyrell will certainly give her some peace of mind. 

Drogon climbs into her lap as she opens her computer, Rhaegal curling up at her feet and Viserion lounging next to the laptop vent to bask in the warm air. And it _does_ clear her mind, answering emails, reviewing product line approvals, blocking off meetings. It’s so normal, so routine. It’s just so much easier sometimes. 

She works until she feels her eyelids getting heavy, yawning hugely as she shuts her laptop, hoping that maybe she’ll be able to actually sleep. 

Even with the comfort of her cats curled up next to her again, it proves futile. 

Her exhaustion from earlier is gone, and Dany tosses and turns for what seems like hours, rolling back and forth in her bed, trying to ease her mind into sleep. But it doesn’t come. Instead her thoughts from earlier return, doubt creeping back in. 

What if she doesn’t really feel the way for Jon she thinks she does? What if it’s all wishful thinking, a trick her heart is playing on her? 

Fear curls in her stomach, dread filling her at the possibility that this could be the same thing that it was with Daario. What if she just likes Jon because he likes her, treats her well, makes her smile? She’s not sure anything she feels is real, truly. She hasn’t trusted her heart for ages now. It has betrayed her and laid broken in her chest since everything with Drogo had fallen apart, and she has left it there, ignored the broken pieces and tried to move on with her life. Convinced herself everything would be less painful if she stopped trying to fix it up. 

And that’s another thing as well. 

She turns over again, trying not to disturb Drogon from where he’s curled up on her other pillow. Her past haunts her still, of course. But even if whatever she feels for Jon is real, if her heart can be trusted— she’d have to tell him. Whatever this is between them isn’t that light and casual thing she’d had with Daario, who had known very little of her history other than she’d had a bad breakup. But if she’s going to be with Jon, _really_ be with him, eventually she’ll have to tell him about Drogo. About everything she’d endured with him, all the pain, physical and emotional. It’s a terrifying thought, panic seizing hold of her chest just at the thought of reliving it. 

And then, of course, the follow up— what if after she tells him everything, he doesn’t want her anymore? 

It’s a possibility, she knows. And a very valid one. She wouldn’t even blame him, really. There’s a part of her that hopes that he would understand— he seems like he would, like he wouldn’t think less of her or want nothing to do with her because she still has trauma. Dany remembers the way he had spoken of his time in the Watch in Tormund’s bar, the tight, painful look on his face as he’d recounted his past. The fear in his eyes, as he’d looked back at her. And a part of her believes that he knows what it’s like to feel so broken, and he wouldn’t hold it against her. 

But another part thinks that maybe dealing with someone so broken as herself isn’t something he would really want to do. And she couldn’t blame him for that— while he hadn’t gone into specific details about his accident and his injuries, she could tell just from the look on his face it had been bad. She wouldn’t begrudge him if he didn’t want to help her sort through all her messy fears and doubts and insecurities, while he still has his own demons to fight. 

A foolish, stupidly hopeful part of her says it doesn’t matter. That together, they can figure it out, learn to heal each other. But the more rational part of her mind says the chance of that is slim. Life is not a fairytale, and traumas don’t just magically melt away with one healing touch. 

It’s unfair of her to assume that Jon will be able to fix her heart up with such ease. After everything it had been put through, it is still so battered and broken that she’s not quite sure it’s really in any shape to love anyone anymore. 

And by the gods, Jon deserves all the love there is in the world. He’s wonderful, and thoughtful, and stronger than he thinks. He’s been through hell, _clearly,_ and he deserves happiness again. That Dany knows without a shadow of a doubt. But whether she’s the one that can give him that happiness or not… 

She doesn’t trust her heart enough to know that. She still isn’t sure that she could ever feel that way again about someone. When they were in the North, under the beautiful, starry sky, and Jon’s lips moved against hers reverently, she had thought, for a moment, that maybe she could. That maybe, with Jon, she could finally put her heart back together, teach it to move on. But now, back in her apartment and her normal life, with the bustle of the city around her and the warm fall breeze still sweeping through the streets, she’s not so sure. The magical aura of the North, the way it had made her feel anything was possible, filled her with wonder like she was nothing but a child again— that’s not here. All that’s here is her job, the life she’s worked to build for so long, and the fragments of her heart, still rattling in her chest. 

After everything, how can she still believe that it can be put back together? That it could be capable of returning someone’s feelings? 

Jon deserves all the love in the world, she knows without a single doubt. 

All the love she’s not sure she can give him.

***

Of the twenty hour car ride, Jon is reasonably certain Sansa and Arya spend about sixteen of those hours giving him grief. 

It seems any and all of Sansa’s reservations towards Dany were erased completely during their week in the North; while he’s glad his sister has come around, he could do without all the incessant prying into what happened on Friday, from both her and Arya. The two of them bombard him with questions for the entire car ride back to King’s Landing, until he finally threatens to leave them at the Trident. 

“You know we’re just happy for you, right?” Sansa says— his terse words had much more of an effect on her than on Arya, who had just rolled her eyes amicably at him. 

“I know, Sansa,” Jon says, inhaling deeply. He knows they mean well, truly. “But I’m not quite sure what any of it means yet. Dany and I still have to… talk about things, I suppose.” His eyes fix on the road ahead, trying not to let terror overcome him at the thought of _that._ “As soon as there’s somethin’ to tell, you’ll both be the first to hear it, I promise.” 

“Talking’s not exactly your strong suit,” Arya says, raising an eyebrow pointedly. “Don’t muck it up, alright? I like Daenerys.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Jon says, thanking the gods he still has tonight to figure out what the _hells_ to say to her tomorrow at lunch. 

He expects a reprieve when he finally gets back to his flat, having dropped both his sisters and their respective dogs off at their own places. His flatmates all call out happily to him from the living room when he walks in the door, Ghost racing down the hall towards the scent of takeout food and the sound of the Direwolves game playing on the television. 

“How was the cold?” Grenn says as Jon follows after his dog, lips ticking up in a little smile to see the way Ghost is sprawled across Edd’s lap, tongue lolling out as Edd scratches his belly enthusiastically. 

“Not bad at all,” Jon says, tossing his duffel into his room, telling himself he’ll deal with it later. Right after finishing a twenty hour drive is _not_ the time to unpack. “There’s only a couple inches of snow right now. We went up in the mountains, and out to Long Lake, and it was fine, really.” 

“After six years on top of that bloody Wall, anything warmer than that feels fine,” Edd grumbles. Jon nods in agreement, walking to the kitchen to grab himself a beer as well, before taking a seat on the couch, briefly taking in the game’s score. 

“What did Daenerys think?” Pyp says, smiling slyly. “Did you have to help keep her warm all week?” 

“Fuck off,” Jon grumbles, but Grenn just laughs. 

“You can forget about keepin’ all that to yourself, because Arya already told Gendry, and Gendry already told Edd,” Grenn says. “So is it true? Did you really kiss her?” 

“Seven hells, don’t any of you have _any_ respect for privacy?” Jon says, but his friends all just look at him expectantly. “Alright, fine,” he says, giving in, knowing they won’t stop until he does. “Aye, I kissed her.” 

All three of them whoop and holler, Pyp leaning over to clap Jon on the back in congratulations, Grenn declaring _“fucking finally!”_ as he ruffles Ghost’s ears. Jon can’t help but smile at their exuberance, grinning widely himself. Even if he doesn’t exactly want to share every detail of Friday night with them, there is a part of him that is still giddy with excitement, unable to keep it all in, desperate to acknowledge it out loud. It feels like that way, it will be more true. 

“Gods, look at that smile!” Pyp says, elbowing Edd. “He looks like a little boy on Christmas morning!” 

“Alright,” Jon says, schooling his expression into something more neutral. But it’s hard— all he can think about now is the feeling of having Dany wrapped up in his arms, her lips warm and soft and sweet against his, and it’s enough to make him fucking _beam._

“So when did you do it?” Grenn asks. “Did it take all week for you to finally muster up the courage?” 

“You know she was there for work, right?” Jon says pointedly. “It’s not like she was there for holiday. But Friday night we went up to Long Lake, all of us, so we could see the Northern Lights, and—” 

“Seven hells, you kissed her under the Northern Lights?” Pyp says, eyebrows raised, grin incredulous. “I take it back, Snow, I guess you _do_ have game after all.” 

“Alright, so you finally kissed her,” Grenn butts back in, before Jon can have a chance to respond. “So now what? When are you going out on a real date?” 

“Er, I dunno,” Jon says. “I… didn’t exactly ask.” 

All three of his flatmates stare at him, even Ghost moving his head to meet Jon’s eyes. “What?” he demands, hating the way his cheeks flush at their glares. Did he do something wrong? Gods, it’s been way too long since he’s done anything like this. 

“You know, I take it back,” Pyp says, shaking his head. “You don’t have any game at all, and you are a bloody fucking _fool.”_

“What?” Jon says hotly, but Grenn seems to agree with Pyp. 

“Hold on,” he says, glaring at Jon. “I just want to set this straight. So you’re up north, cuddled up in the snow with this woman who you’ve been mad about for _months,_ with the _Northern fucking Lights_ above you, and you somehow _don’t_ think that’s the perfect time to ask this woman on a bloody date?” 

His temper flares, glaring right back at his friends. They hadn’t been there— they hadn’t seen the uncertainty in Dany’s eyes, felt the way her heart pounded underneath his fingertips. They hadn’t heard Missandei warn him about all the things Dany’s had to endure in her past. He doesn’t care if it makes him look like an idiot, he’s not going to push her by accident. She’s too important to him. 

“I don’t want to rush her,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I know what it’s like to just push forward because it feels like that’s what you should do.” The mood immediately shifts, Pyp’s expression growing sheepish, Edd and Grenn’s faces softening. “I’m not puttin’ her through that.” 

“Jon,” Edd says, his voice much more level than their other two friends’. “It’s good of you to think that way, but the woman went up to the fuckin’ North for a week just to be with you.” His heart speeds up, looking at Edd, trying to understand what he’s saying. “I think it’s probably a good guess that she feels the same for you as you do for her.” 

“As in, she’s probably wondering why you _didn’t_ ask her on a bloody date,” Grenn adds. Now _Jon_ feels sheepish. That hadn’t occurred to him, that maybe Dany had been waiting for _him_ to make the first move. Of course he wants to take her out, but more than anything, he wants her to know that he’ll be patient, if she needs time. Leaving the ball in her court had just seemed like the better way to go. But now he’s not so sure. 

“Well, we’re gettin’ lunch together tomorrow,” Jon says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That counts for somethin’, right?” 

“Aye, it does,” Edd says, narrowing his eyes. “But I thought you said you didn’t ask her out.” 

“Well, I didn’t, exactly,” he admits. “She asked if I wanted to meet her on her lunch break again, and I said yes—”

“Wait a minute,” Grenn interrupts. “You mean _she_ asked you to lunch?” 

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Jon asks, running his fingers over Ghost’s hip, as his dog’s backside has somehow ended up in his lap, tail thumping against his thigh slowly. 

Pyp groans, Edd just shaking his head at him. “What?” Jon says, suddenly defensive again, bracing himself for his friends’ teasing. 

“Jon, you _prat,”_ Grenn answers. “You made _her_ ask you out?” 

“Well, I’m not entirely sure it _is_ a date…” he says, but he trails off, Pyp giving him a look of extreme disappointment. “Even if it is, what of it?” he demands, defensiveness curling in his stomach. “Are you saying the woman can’t ask out the man for a change?” 

“No, I’m saying you’re an idiot,” Grenn says. “How can you think she _doesn’t_ want you to take her out, when she’s already gone and asked you out herself?” 

“Okay, fine,” Jon says, clenching his fists, jaw setting in aggravation. “So what do I do?” 

“Tomorrow at that café, you ask her out on a _real_ date,” Pyp declares. “Somewhere nice.”

“And then you go back to her place after instead of coming here,” Grenn adds. “Because I’m working a night shift this weekend, and I’m not getting back at three in the morning and listening to you two fuck through the bedroom wall while I try to sleep.” 

Jon throws him a deathly glare, Pyp bursting out into laughter. “You don’t have to worry about that,” Jon says. “The last thing I want is her meetin’ you lot.” 

“That’s not fair,” Pyp pouts, taking a sip of his beer. “Gendry’s gotten to meet her already, twice. I want to see this girl that makes you smile so much.” 

“That’s true,” Edd agrees, nodding at Pyp. “Anyone who can turn this gloomy fucker into someone with hearts in his eyes half the time now has to have some sort of magical powers.” 

Jon glances down, and he can’t help but think there’s maybe some truth to Edd’s words. There’s something so special about Dany that it almost feels like magic. Gods know she’s had him spellbound practically since he met her. 

Tomorrow, they’ll get lunch together, and he’ll ask her on a real date. It sort of terrifies him, the prospect of really _doing_ this with Dany, but it excites him too, remarkably so. 

He can hardly sleep when he finally climbs into bed, his mind consumed with thoughts of her hair shining in the moonlight, the feeling of her lips against his in the warm glow of the hotel lobby. The light in her eyes and the warmth in his heart as he’d pulled her into his arms, that desire to keep her trapped up there forever, never let her go. 

When he finally does drift off, all of his dreams are of her. 

***

Even though he gets to the café early, when Jon arrives, he can see Dany’s already there. 

It’s only been days since he’d last seen her, but even so, his heart speeds up at how _beautiful_ she looks, her hair spilling down her back in loose waves. Nerves tangle in his stomach, and he shoves his hands in his pants pockets before walking over to the table she’s at. He’d dressed up more than he usually does for their meetings today— he’s got a button down shirt on, hair pulled back tidily, and he’d checked himself over before leaving the house to make sure none of Ghost’s fur had somehow made its way onto his clothes. 

“Dany,” he says, and she sits up straighter, head turning towards him. 

“Hi, Jon,” she responds, smiling at him, but… there’s something off, he thinks, as he takes the seat across from her. Her eyes aren’t as bright as they normally are, something almost like fear clouding them. His stomach twists in knots, suddenly unsure. _Why does she look so nervous?_ he can’t help but wonder. 

But that’s ridiculous. He’s nervous too, really. This may just be a casual lunch at face value, but there’s so much more to it, they both know. They didn’t really discuss what had happened up North at all in the aftermath, and now that they’re back in King’s Landing… they have to figure out how this is going to work. 

Even though he’s sort of terrified at the prospect of hashing it all out, of putting _words_ to all of this between them— because gods know he’s never been good with words— there’s something else inside him that is just _yearning_ to tell Dany how he really feels. To tell her how much he cares for her, and what she means to him, and how she makes him want to _live_ again, after three years of just going through the motions. 

But foremost, Jon can’t stand to see Dany look so anxious. So he deflects, for her sake. 

“I hope you haven’t been buried in work all weekend,” he says, and she laughs at that, a little bit of the fear fading from her eyes. 

“Not really, no,” she says. “I should have been, probably, but I gave myself a little more of a break.” She smiles, meeting his eyes, and his heart thumps when he realizes that haze of fear is gone. “Besides, Drogon would hardly let me open my laptop, he was so intent on being cuddled.” 

“I can imagine,” Jon says. “I’ve never left Ghost for more than a day. Leavin’ him for a whole week would be torture, for us both.” 

“By the way all my cats cried when I finally got home, you would _think_ they had been tortured,” Dany says with a smirk, and he can’t help but grin back at her. 

They chat amicably as they eat their meal, enjoying each other’s company with trivial topics of conversation. But while he doesn't want to push her, Jon can’t help but wonder if they’re _ever_ going to address what had happened last week. 

“I miss it, you know,” Dany says, and Jon raises an eyebrow at her in disbelief, finishing off his meal. 

“Really?” he says, skeptical. “You miss the cold?” 

“Well, not the cold _exactly,_ perhaps,” she says, making a face. “But I have to admit, I miss waking up every morning and seeing the snow drift down from above. It was like magic.” 

Jon’s seen so much snow in his life that its appeal has been completely lost on him— having to shovel out a driveway as long as theirs week after week for most of his life did wonders to help him get over the novelty of snow. But seeing Dany talk about it, like this pure, magical force… it almost makes him reconsider his apathy towards the wintertime.

“You’ll have to go back in the _true_ winter,” he says, eyes meeting hers. “In February, the snow gets so high that it would go almost past your head.” She nods, but the light doesn’t quite reach her eyes this time, her smile falling a little flat. 

“As long as I don’t have to shovel it,” she says, a little smile tugging at her lips, but he can see the change in her already, his heart speeding up as she shifts in her seat. 

 _Gods,_ he still really doesn’t have a bloody clue what to say. He should have practiced this before, probably— all coherent thought flees his mind as Dany looks at him, her blue eyes so wide, so open that it makes his heart ache. 

He just wants to tell her what she means to him. Wants to make sure she knows that she’s safe with him, that she can trust him. That he’ll try to be the sort of man she deserves, if she’ll let him. 

And he’s going to ask her to dinner first. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but Dany beats him to it. “Jon,” she says, worrying her lip, and it’s somehow just like that moment after they’d first kissed— she looks so uncertain of herself, so rooted in fear. He wishes he could do what he did then, lean across the table and kiss all of her worries away, assure her that together, they’ll figure it out. 

“What is it?” he asks, leaning in closer to her, forearms resting on the café table. She looks down for a moment, before peeking up at him through her lashes, and there’s nothing more he wants in the _world_ than to just hold her until she feels safe again. 

“Could we… do you think we could talk, about last week?” she says, and he nods immediately, his own heart racing in his chest. 

“Of course,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice even. _You can do this,_ he promises himself, though he’s not entirely sure he believes the words. 

“I just…” she says, and he can’t _take_ it anymore; he reaches across the table, taking her hand in his, tangling their fingers together. It seems to give her the courage she’s looking for, because then she continues. 

“I think I made a mistake,” she says, and his heart _stops._

He thinks back to all the people who have assured him Dany feels the same way— Margaery, Missandei, his sisters, his flatmates— all their words turn to ash now, clouding his thoughts, settling around his startled heart. His fingers go still against hers, face unmoving, the only thing that lets him know he’s still breathing the dull throb of his wounded heart. 

She thinks it all was a mistake. Everything up North— the night in Tormund’s, the Godswood, the waterfalls, the _kiss—_ she regrets it all. It didn’t mean for her what it meant for him. 

What a stupid fucking _fool_ he’d been to have so much hope. 

He realizes a moment too late she’s still talking, trying to clear the buzzing white noise from his ears so he can make out whatever she’s saying. 

“I really did have a wonderful time all week, with you, and with your family,” she says. “But—” 

 _Everything that comes before the word ‘but’ is horseshit,_ he can practically hear his father say, and if his heart wasn’t currently breaking, he thinks he might laugh.

“Everything was so beautiful, under the Northern Lights,” she says, worrying her lip again. “And I think I just got… caught up in the moment. And I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m so sorry,” she finishes, voice small. It’s so unlike the Dany he’s come to know in the past months that it’s jarring. 

“I care about you a lot, Jon,” she continues, “and I don’t want to ruin our friendship, or our work relation, going into the winter season. There’s still so much we need to do with your partnership—” 

 _Of course there is,_ he thinks bitterly. Because with her, it always comes back to fucking work, doesn’t it? Maybe Sansa was right. Maybe she never _will_ want to find the time for him. They could have done this, they could have _had_ something, but he should have known that in the end, her work would come first. 

 _Stop it,_ he chides himself. That’s unfair of him, and he knows it. Part of the reason he admires Dany so much is her passion for what she does, her tenacity and fire and sheer force of will. 

“So, do you think maybe we could forget it? Just move on?” she asks, and the fear in her eyes, it breaks his heart. 

Part of him wants to yell. Part of him wants to tell her that he’s probably never going to be able to forget the feeling of her lips on his, no matter how hard he tries, because he’s never felt for someone the way he feels for her. Part of him just wants to get up and walk away, stalk back into the dark that he’s been trying to escape for the past three years, go back to the cold black pit of unfeeling and let his broken heart fester, learn to shut out all the emotions for good this time. Part of him wants to stand up and demand that she acknowledge there’s _something_ between them, because he may not be the best at this, but he just cannot believe that Dany feels _nothing_ for him at all. 

But he remembers Missandei’s words. Her pleas to be gentle with her friend. Her warning, how Dany has been through plenty of heartbreak in the past. 

Right now, questioning her will only hurt her more. And regardless of whether or not his heart is currently laying shattered on the ground, hurting Dany is still the last thing he wants. 

So he takes a breath in. Tries to school his expression into something neutral. And he squeezes her hand that has gone limp in his, softly and full of reassurance. 

“Of course,” he says, and her eyes soften, filling with relief. “Whatever you want, Dany. We can forget it.” 

“Thank you,” she says, her voice so soft, and the words feel like another knife to the heart, this one just as painful as the first. 

Somehow, he manages to keep it together until Dany goes back to work, leaving him with a little wave and a smile that’s like a final punch to the gut, saying she’ll see him on Thursday for their normal meeting. He drives back to his flat on autopilot, the cold in his heart spreading, making it harder for him to breathe, every ragged inhale making his veins feel more like they’re flooding with ice. 

When he finally makes it through the door and finds Ghost sitting eagerly on the other side, tail thumping against the floor, it’s all he can do to not break down right there in the middle of the hallway. 

“Hi, boy,” he says, his voice breaking. His dog seems to sense something is wrong, and his excited yips end as Jon slowly ruffles his ears, Ghost whining instead, nosing at his hand. He squeezes his eyes closed, feeling tears prick behind them, his heart still throbbing in his chest, torn to shreds and bleeding out. 

Well, he supposes. At least now he knows it does still work. 

Ghost whimpers again, butting him with his head, and Jon can’t _take_ it, the pain of it all too much as he leans against the hallway wall. He should probably go sit on the couch, or lay down in his bed, or go in the kitchen and get a fucking _drink,_ but he can’t move, all of it too much. So instead he slides down the wall, bracing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands, the pain washing over him like a tidal wave. 

His hands are shoved out of the way by a large, furry white body, Ghost fighting his way into his lap, all paws and wiggling tail, his head resting on Jon’s shoulder. It makes him smile a little, thinking of the way Ghost used to sleep on his chest, right over his heart, when he was a puppy. Even now, when he’s a hundred pounds heavier and about ten times the size he was then, he still acts like he did back then when he was a baby. 

All these years, and Ghost has never once given up on him. Never once been too frightened away to come back, or too tired to keep dealing with him. All these years, this dog has loved him like nobody else. 

And then he can’t hold it in anymore, all the emotion he’s been letting build up since Dany said those words and dashed all his hopes finally breaking free. He buries his face in Ghost’s soft fur, hands stroking up and down his dog as he cries. 

_I think I made a mistake._

Is that all that week in the North was to her— a giant mistake? He had thought, maybe, while she was there, that she was enjoying herself. She had looked so _happy,_ her smile shining brighter than the sunlight on the snow, the wonder in her eyes making her whole face light up as she’d taken in his home. And he had thought she’d been happy with _him._ Even with what he’d told her of his past at Tormund’s, even when his bloody siblings were obnoxious, even when she’d still had work to do— she had looked at him in a way that couldn’t make him do anything but hope. Hope that maybe she felt it too, this thing between them. 

But no. It was all an allusion, a lie. She’d made a mistake kissing him. Letting him in. Learning more about him. He’d taken a leap of faith, believed that maybe things could actually be _good_ again for him, and all he had to show for it was a business meeting and a broken heart. 

 _You should have known,_ a cold, cruel part of his brain says. He’d been more effective in shutting that part of himself up in the past few months— ever since Dany had walked into his life, with her fiery eyes and silver hair and passion and vibrance and _hope._ But now the voice is back, and it speaks true. 

Hoping was a fool’s errand. He should have let his hope die when he practically did at the Wall. 

Ghost whimpers, moving his head so he can lick the salty tear tracks off Jon’s cheeks, and it makes him smile, just a bit. “At least I’ll always have you, won’t I, boy?” he murmurs, fingers still stroking through Ghost’s fur, the beat of his dog’s heart helping calm his own, chasing away a little of the hurt and ice and cold threatening to swallow him whole. 

He thinks back to those days after he’d been released from the hospital. Wallowing doesn’t help, that he knows. What he needs now is a distraction. 

“Ghost,” Jon says, voice low, and his dog’s ears perk up, head cocking to the side curiously. “You want to go for a run?” he asks, biting back a smile at the way his tail immediately starts wagging. “You could use it, after the car ride yesterday, huh?” 

His dog jumps out of his lap quickly as Jon clambers back up, running a hand along his beard, pushing his hair back. His button down is beginning to feel stifling, so he begins working at the buttons as he walks to his room, Ghost right at his heels, his steps light and full of excitement at the promise of an imminent run. 

Finishing with the buttons, Jon tugs off his shirt, shedding the undershirt as well so he can change into his workout clothes. Ghost immediately hops up on the bed, tail wagging as he watches Jon change, his excitement almost makes Jon smile. 

But then he turns to the mirror as he goes to pull on an athletic tee, and the sight of his marred chest reflected back in the glass is enough to make him pause. 

Seven scars, tracing all the way down his torso and marring his abdominals, the marks still a dull faded red, even after three years. The one right over his heart is the worst, the curved mark stark in contrast against his pale skin, reminding him that he shouldn’t even be alive. 

It makes sense, really. If Dany had a clue to how broken he truly is, he wouldn’t even blame her for wanting to run the other way. 

Ghost yips at him, rolling over on the bed, and it breaks his trance. He turns away from the mirror and back towards his dog, pulling the shirt over his head and pushing down memories of the past. 

Ghost takes off the moment they start running— he’d trained him from the time he was a pup, so he’ll run right next to Jon now, even if his dog is much faster than he’ll ever be. He loses track of time, the two of them running through the park to start and then off into the rest of the city, feet pounding against the pavement of King’s Landing as they push on. Jon focuses on his breathing, the steady thump of his heart as it pumps blood through his body, muscles flexing and contracting with every stride. Ghost lopes along at his side, happy as can be, content to keep pace with him. 

Jon doesn’t even realize where he had been headed until he’s arrived there, Ghost stopping at his side as they come to a pause in front of Sansa’s apartment building. 

It makes sense, he supposes, his subconscious decision. Sansa’s the one who’s always helped the most to get him back up from rock bottom. 

She looks surprised when she answers the door, pretty brow furrowing as she takes him and Ghost in, his dog panting and his own skin slick with sweat. “Jon?” she says, swinging it open so he can come in. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” 

“Went for a run,” he says as he follows her into the apartment, though he knows that’s little explanation. “Is Jeyne here, or is it just you?” 

“Just me and Lady,” she says, peering at him curiously. “Jon, are you alright?” 

He deflates, all the pain flooding right back in. All he can see is Dany at that table at the café, the fear in her eyes as she’d looked at him.

“No, I’m not,” he admits, his voice strained, eyes cast downward. He pauses, looking up at Sansa, and her expression is so full of concern for him that it almost makes him want to cry again. 

“D’you… would you mind if I stayed for a bit?” he asks, and Sansa sighs, giving him that look of fond exasperation that he recognizes from the months she’d taken care of him. 

“Of course not,” she says. “You don’t have to ask, you know. Stay as long as you’d like. Jeyne’s out; she shouldn’t be back till late. I’ll get you both some water.” His sister hurries into the kitchen, Ghost trotting after her obediently, before her blue eyes glance back, meeting his again. “Do you want to take a shower, or anything?” 

“No, I’m alright,” he says, though the ache in his chest suggests anything but. “I… thank you, Sansa.” 

“Oh, stop,” she says, placing a bowl for Ghost on the ground, returning to his side and handing him a glass. “I’m always here, you know that.” Her eyes grow softer, filling with concern. “Now tell me what’s wrong.” 

“It’s… things with Dany,” he says, just the memory of their conversation from earlier making his heart clench painfully.

“Oh no,” Sansa says, mouth pulling up into a frown, leading him over to the couch. “Alright. Tell me everything.” 

And so he does. 

Sansa listens, her eyes never once leaving his, even when Ghost and Lady come over to curl up at their feet, Lady jumping up onto the couch gracefully to rest her head in Sansa’s lap. He tells her everything that had happened between them in the North, and then everything that she had said mere hours ago to take it all back. 

“And she just…” Jon bites his lip, trying to steel himself, to not let the pain still fresh in his heart overtake him again. “Gods, she looked so _relieved_ when I said we could forget it. It was like bein’ stabbed in the chest all over again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sansa says, her voice low and yet still sincere. “I… that’s awful, Jon. I’m so sorry.” She pauses, surveying him. “Do you want me to go yell at her for hurting you? Because I warned her not to. I’ll show up to her office, you know I will.” 

He smiles, even if it feels strange to do so when his heart hurts so badly. Sansa would, he knows. “No, don’t go yell at her. Though I appreciate you offerin’.” He shrugs, huffing a little in laughter, but there’s no humor behind it. 

“I should have listened to you, aye?” he says. But what he doesn’t expect is for Sansa’s blue eyes to grow brighter, mouth set in a hard line. 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she says, words full of determination. “I was wrong about her, who I thought she was at first. Last week proved that to me.” Her eyes soften, and she reaches over, squeezing his hand. “Last week I could see it. How much she really cares for you.” 

“And now she wants to forget it all,” Jon mumbles, looking down. “Just my luck, I suppose. I finally start to feel _better,_ feel like I’m actually goin’ somewhere, somewhere forward, and she… she changes her mind.” 

“I could see that too,” Sansa says softly, leaning in closer to him. “The hope in your eyes, when you were around her. It had been so long since I had seen it in you.” 

“Well that’s the thing,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “I— Dany made me feel like I was alright. Like things might actually work out, that I might have a chance of movin’ past all this shit, living my life again. But then, when she just… wanted to forget it all—” 

He leans forward, burying his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes tightly shut so that he doesn’t start crying again. He knows Sansa has seen him much worse off than he is right now, but he’d rather maintain just a sliver of his dignity. 

“You’re not going to go backwards, Jon,” she says, voice gentle but certain. “Trust me. I know this _sucks,_ and it feels like all hope is lost, but you’ve become better since you’ve known her. You’re going to be alright.” 

“It doesn’t feel it,” he says, gritting his teeth at how _desperate_ and cliche that sounds. And yet it’s still the truth. “I had hope because of _her._ Because some stupid fuckin’ part of me believed maybe I actually had a _chance._ And now that she’s told me that’s not what she wants, I just feel… hollow.” He huffs again, shaking his head a little. “I shouldn’t have pinned all my hopes on her,” he admits. “That’s a bloody selfish thing to do to a person.” 

Sansa remains quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. He knows they’re the truth— it’s not Dany’s fault she doesn’t feel the same way, and he won’t begrudge her for it. But that doesn’t mean this doesn’t hurt like all the hells. 

“What I don’t understand is _why,”_ Sansa says finally, breaking the silence. He shrugs, not meeting his sister’s eyes. 

“Can you blame her, really?” he mutters. “If I were her, I wouldn’t want to have to deal with someone who can’t get over their fucked up trauma either.” 

“But I asked her,” Sansa insists, indignant. “And she told me. She told me she was up North for you.” 

Normally, his heart would have thumped furiously at that confirmation, but now, it falls flat. He sighs. “Well, she must have regretted it, then.” 

Sansa squeezes his hand, her comfort easing a little of the still bitter pain in his chest. “I know we all teased you, but Jon,” she says, and he finally looks over, meeting her eyes. “It was _so_ nice to see you so happy. So _yourself_ again. Even if you did have constant hearts in your eyes.” 

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better, Sansa,” he says, voice getting choked up again, his throat thick and eyes blurring. Gods, standing on that mountainside with her, their foreheads pressed together— he’d had so much hope. And look where it went and got him. 

“The thing I don’t understand is that _she_ looked at you the same way, I swear it,” Sansa says. “All of us thought so. You looked at her like she was the stars in the sky, but she looked at _you_ like you had hung them up just for her.” 

Jon’s not sure if his sister means to console him with those words, but all they do is twist the knife deeper, hopes and dreams of what-ifs racing through his mind and taunting him. 

“Sorry,” Sansa says with a wince, seeming to realize the reaction her statement has elicited from him. She pauses again, scratching Lady’s head absentmindedly. “Did she give any other reason? Or say anything else?” 

“Not really,” Jon sighs. “I can’t really remember everythin’ she said, my head was reeling, but…” he pauses, shaking his head. The memory of the look in Dany’s eyes, that thinly masked terror in them— so different from the way she’d looked after he’d kissed her—

“She looked so _afraid,”_ Jon says, and Sansa’s brow furrows. He exhales, looking down at Ghost, curled up at his feet. “I dunno. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place. Missandei told me she’s been through hell with men in her past, and not to rush her, but… I really thought she felt the same.” 

Sansa hums, letting silence fill the room again, her hand still squeezing his in comfort. “So now what?” she asks, voice gentle. “Do you give up? Try to move on?” 

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” he admits. He hasn’t really gone into the depth of his feelings for Dany with his siblings— hells, he hasn’t really admitted them to _himself_ yet, he doesn’t think— but moving on from her isn’t something that will come easily, he’s sure. 

“Are you mad at her?” Sansa asks, and he startles, looking right at her. 

“No, of course not,” he says, letting out a long breath. “Does this fucking _suck?_ Of course. Am I scared now of goin’ back to how I was before? Yes.” He pauses again, shaking his head. “But how could I be mad at her? Her feelings are just as important, even if they’re not the same as mine.” He laughs, though there isn’t a hint of humor in it. “Besides, I still have to work with her for the next few months anyway.” 

“That’s true,” Sansa says, smiling a little. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing, Jon. Maybe in that time she’ll come around. Maybe she wasn’t ready now, but she will be later.” 

He squeezes his eyes closed, trying not to let hope take hold of his heart, ease the pain there. Because if it’s false, the disappointment might just destroy him. “You think she could be?” he asks, and he sounds so desperate, so needy, even to his own ears. Sansa leans into him, patting his arm. 

“I think so,” she tells him. “You said Missandei told you that she had past relationships that had hurt her badly, right?” He nods. “Maybe she’s still recovering from that, just like you. Would you have been able to feel this way about someone two years ago, after what happened at the Wall?” 

He almost laughs. “Seven hells, no.” 

“Then there you go,” Sansa says with a shrug. “Maybe she does really like you, but she just needs a little more time.” Her eyes are so blue as they stare back at his, brimming with hope and certainty. “I saw the way she looked at you, Jon. We all did. I can’t believe she truly doesn’t feel anything for you.” 

He sighs, that hope desperately trying to sneak into his heart, begging to let him believe that Dany may still feel the same. “You remember Jeyne’s boyfriend at the beginning of uni? Ramsay?” Sansa asks, and Jon nods. 

“Aye. He was the awful one, right?” 

“Yes,” Sansa says darkly. “He was terrible. I was so happy when she finally was able to break free of him. But still,” she continues. “After that, Jeyne couldn’t even think about dating anyone again for _years._ She’d try, I remember, but she was never quite ready for it. She was always so scared of it going terribly again, or convinced that she wouldn’t be able to give enough of herself to a relationship. But then she met her boyfriend now, and it took her a while, but she was able to let him in. To let herself really feel for him. And now she’s happier than I’ve ever seen her.” Sansa smiles a little, ever the romantic. “He’s her person, and it just worked.” 

“What are you saying?” Jon asks, trying to pick up on the significance of his sister’s story. 

“Maybe you’re Dany’s person,” Sansa says, making his heart skip a beat. _Fuck,_ he wants to believe that more than anything. Because it’s like Sansa said— he hasn’t felt like this in years. He hasn’t readily exposed his past, put all his traumas on display for someone willingly since the accident. But for Dany, if she really wanted to know— he’d show her his scars in a heartbeat, if he thought she still might stick around afterwards. 

“I’d give her time, Jon,” Sansa says. “But don’t give up quite yet. I think maybe she just needs to come to the realization herself.” 

“Alright,” he says, and his chest doesn’t feel quite as tight anymore, his heart not so strangled and bleeding. There’s hope in him once again, fickle as it may be. It’s been a long time since he hoped for anything, but all he can do is pray that this time, it’s not misplaced. That it doesn't spell out the end for him. 

“Thank you, Sansa,” he says, and she smiles sweetly, patting his arm. 

“Anytime, big brother,” she assures him. “I’ll always be your shoulder to cry on, if you need it. And if you change your mind and want me to go yell at her, just say the word.” 

“I appreciate it, truly,” he says, giving her a little smile. “But enough about me. I want to hear about you and Margaery.” 

The blush that floods his sister’s cheeks tells him immediately that her love life is going much better than his. “What do you want to know?” she asks, unable to fight the smile off her face. 

“I dunno, whatever you want to tell me,” he says. “I didn’t realize you had already gone on a date with her.” 

“Mm,” Sansa says, her expression getting a little dreamy. “Well, we’ve been on two dates now. The first night she took me out to a little restaurant downtown— it was _wonderful,_ all Dornish food, which I hardly ever have. And then we went to the museum of Baelor together and walked through all the courtyards and just talked, and…” she trails off, smiling again. “She’s so interesting. And so _nice,_ and I feel like I can be myself around her.” 

“Good,” Jon says, and this time, when he smiles, it doesn’t feel forced. “I’m glad for you, Sansa. You deserve someone like that.” 

“Thanks,” she says, almost bashful, before she continues, almost bouncing off the couch in excitement. “You know she got us tickets to go see _Podrick Payne_ next weekend? And backstage passes for after the concert, as well.” 

“Aye, he’s a sponsor of Tyrell,” he tells her. “He was at the event in the Kingswood, too.” 

“Well, I’m very excited,” she says, and Jon laughs. 

“Yeah, I got that, believe it or not,” he says, and she rolls her eyes, shoving him playfully. 

“Alright, enough. Are you hungry? We can order dinner, if you’d like. Or go to that place down the street. Whatever you want.” 

“You don’t mind?” he says, not wanting to impose. She rolls her eyes, giving him that look. 

“Please, Jon. Stop acting like you’re such a burden on me. Let’s order takeout, and distract ourselves so you don’t think about your shitty day, and I don’t think about the awful exam I have at the end of the week.” 

He laughs at that. Sometimes, he’s really glad he never went to uni. 

“Alright,” he agrees, and Sansa smiles. “It’s a deal.” 

***

At some point over the weekend, Dany had convinced herself that as soon as she set things straight with Jon, she would stop feeling so tormented. 

It takes her about five minutes of being back at work Tuesday afternoon to see that’s not the case at all. 

She can’t get the way he’d looked at her when she’d said those words out of her mind. Like she’d just pulled his heart out of his chest and smashed it to bits on the table. And yet he’d _still_ told her that it was fine, that whatever she wanted was what they would do. It breaks her heart, but it also convinces her even more. 

She does not deserve someone as good as Jon Snow, and she would rather break his heart now then let him have even more hope and dash it to bits months from now, when he realizes that she’ll never be able to give him everything he deserves in a partner. 

She can barely sleep Tuesday night, tossing and turning in her bed constantly. Wednesday is even worse, because she knows that tomorrow she’ll have to see him again. And the worst part is that even though she’s _tormented_ by what she’d said to him, how he’d reacted, she still misses him unbelievably. Still _wants_ to see him, even if this time, he’s angry at her. 

A tiny part of her heart knows he won’t be. He probably should be mad at her, for being such a bloody coward, but Jon is too good for that. Just like he was too good to yell at her or argue with her during lunch. 

She arrives early for work on Thursday, because she had been awake anyways, and she still has mountains of things to catch up with from the week in the North. By the time Missandei comes in at seven thirty, she’s already worked through a few press releases, set up meetings with their counterparts in Essos about the next line concepts, _and_ made herself another cup of coffee. 

“Morning,” Missandei calls as she walks by Dany’s office door, and she looks up from her computer briefly, returning the greeting to her friend. Her eyes flit back to the computer screen before her as Missandei gets settled, noticing a new email in her inbox. 

It’s from the photographer that did the shoots up North, with a link to the photo gallery with all the edited shots. Her breath catches, heart racing as she opens it. 

She scrolls through the photos of Wylla and Robin mindlessly, barely taking them in as she continues on to what she’s _really_ looking for, her stomach dropping when she finally reaches them. 

The photos of her and Jon. And they’re _gorgeous._

Her heart squeezes painfully as she looks at them, both of them laughing in the snow, Ghost between them. The photographer had indeed cropped her out of some of them, or photoshopped her away so it looks like just Jon was there on the mountain, but the few he had left… 

She finds the one he’d shown her on his camera, their foreheads pressed together, Jon’s fingers cupping her cheek as he smiles at her like she’s the only thing in the world. 

It makes her whole being ache for him, to be close to him like that again. She’d felt so safe in his arms, so wanted, so adored. Like maybe everything really _would_ be alright. And for the millionth time since their lunch, she wonders if she made a mistake, shutting Jon out. 

It feels like she did, most of the time. But there’s that part of her heart that is still terrified of whatever this is between them. A part that insists she’s not ready for this. 

“Daenerys,” Missandei says, and Dany looks up, trying to school her face into a neutral expression. Her friend tilts her head a little, studying her with golden eyes. “You alright, love?” 

“Yes, sorry,” she says, trying to laugh it off. “Still completely swamped with work.” 

“Me as well,” Missandei says. “But Margaery wanted me to tell you she booked a conference room for Jon’s meeting today. She has an event in November she wants to go over with him, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course not,” Dany says, and Missandei nods. “I’ll send her the agenda I had already.” 

Missandei leaves her office, and Dany turns back to her computer again, emotion welling in her chest as she stares at the picture again. She scrolls through the rest of the album, lingering on the photos of her and Jon, before she finally has to close out of it, forwarding the email on to Olenna for final review. 

She still has work to do, after all. 

The rest of the morning passes torturously slow— with every minute that drags by, Dany grows more and more on edge. Half of her is excited to see Jon again, but the other half of her is terrified of how he’ll act, if he’ll be cross with her for what she had said at lunch. 

Finally the clock approaches ten, and Dany gathers up her things, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she makes her way to the conference room Margaery had booked. Margaery is already seated at the table inside, typing away furiously on her laptop. 

“Morning,” she says in greeting, taking the seat next to the other woman. “Missandei’s gone down to sign him in.” 

“Perfect,” Margaery says with a smile. “And I appreciate you letting me crash your meeting. We’ve received such great feedback about Jon’s content for Tyrell, so we have a larger-scale event planned for next month that I want to propose to him.” She shrugs. “I figured it would be easier while he was already here.” 

“Of course,” Dany says, but then she catches a glimpse of raven curls coming around the corner, and her heart leaps into her throat as Missandei and Jon appear, entering the room and taking seats at the table as well. 

“Margaery,” Jon says, eyebrows raising in surprise. “It’s good to see you again.” The hint of a smile playing at his lips makes Dany wonder if he’s spoken to his sister about her blossoming relationship with the other woman. Margaery seems unshaken, though, as always, smiling brightly back at Jon. 

“It has been too long,” she agrees. “Although I hope last week up in the North was enjoyable. Daenerys sent me the prints this morning; they look wonderful.” 

Jon glances over at her, something unreadable in his beautiful eyes, making her heart twist painfully with doubt. “Well, you can thank Dany for that,” he says, and she almost _melts_ at the way he looks at her, soft and affectionate. Like she hadn’t completely shattered all his hopes and dreams on Tuesday at lunch. 

“I’m bloody awful in front of the camera, apparently,” he continues, and Margaery laughs. “Taking photos suits me much better, I’m afraid.” 

“Well, luckily Daenerys is a fantastic last-minute model in a pinch,” Missandei says, grinning at her slyly. “Once you started taking pictures together, it was like magic.” 

Dany knows Missandei doesn’t mean to be hurtful with the comment— she hasn’t exactly told anyone about what happened between her and Jon on Tuesday, or the weekend she spent torturing herself over whether or not she’d done the right thing in kissing him. But Jon stiffens all the same, looking down awkwardly, Dany feeling her own body freeze up as well. 

She forces a smile, trying to ease the sudden tension in the small room. “I knew I missed my true calling,” she jokes, and everyone chuckles, though when she meets Missandei’s eyes, her stomach sinks at the suspicion in them. 

“Alright, well, let’s get to business,” Margaery says. “I hate to commandeer you and Daenerys’s meeting time, but I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of a pretty large scale event for you.” 

“Alright,” Jon says, looking just a tad nervous. “What were you thinking?” 

“First off, our engagement with your sponsored posts specifically has been phenomenal,” Margaery says. “Your authenticity has been very well received, and we’ve seen a definite rise in sales on products you choose to tell your followers about, above our other sponsors.” 

“That’s good,” Jon says nodding. “Right?” 

“Definitely,” Margaery agrees. “That being said, we want to focus around you and Ghost for most of our promotional events for the winter line. And to start off the season, marketing was hoping you would do a documented camping trip, interactive for your followers.” 

“Alright,” Jon says, looking at her curiously. “I… what exactly does that mean?” 

“We want you to go on a fairly long trip— around five days, we were thinking— and post about the entire thing on your instagram stories,” she says, Jon’s brow furrowing as she continues. “Obviously the goal is to highlight the Tyrell products you’re using, but we want it to seem authentic to your followers. And we want it to _be_ authentic to what you do on your hikes. Nothing staged, or any of that,” Margaery says, making Jon relax a little, and Dany almost chuckles. It seems that she’s not the only one who has figured out suggesting Jon stage anything for the sake of selling more products is not a good way to get him to cooperate. 

Dany loves Margaery dearly, but she doesn’t know Jon as well as Dany does now. And she knows what Ghost’s instagram means to him, and how important what he portrays on there is. Of course she wants Tyrell to do well, and for sales to increase— but a small, desperate part of her hopes ardently that Margaery isn’t about to ask him to sacrifice his account’s integrity to turn a profit with this marketing scheme. 

It’s almost funny, to think back to when she hadn’t given a damn about what had gone onto his account, as long as it helped increase profits for her company. How far she’s come since Jon Snow walked into her life. 

“We were thinking of having you take over the Tyrell instagram account for a day or two, bring your followers through some of the highlights of your camping trips and hikes, give them advice and tips for how to do things like this on their own,” she says, Jon nodding a little. “We also would like for you to do some other things to engage with your followers— host a Q&A with them, go live from the hike, things like that. Maybe even host a giveaway with product we give you— we still haven’t worked out all the details. But what do you think?” Margaery asks. “Do you think it could be something you would be able to do?” 

“Aye, I suppose,” Jon says. “You basically want me to document what I do on hikes and what products I use while I’m on them.” 

“Essentially, yes,” Margaery says. “We can give you a much more detailed schedule as the time comes closer. But we just wanted to secure a time frame— we were thinking the third week in November?” 

“I can check with my boss, make sure I get the time off,” Jon says. “I’ll need someone to help me while I’m there, though. There’s little chance I’ll remember how to do all those things you want me doin’ if I’m by myself.” 

“Of course,” Margaery says. “Whoever you want can come along. One of your siblings, or friends, or if you needed a staff member from here—” Dany freezes as Missandei raises an eyebrow at her. “You let us know what you need, and we’ll make it happen.” 

“Alright,” Jon says. “Arya’d probably come with me. We do a lot of long hikes together, and she knows how to work my account better than anyone else.” 

“Perfect,” Margaery says. “For location— we were thinking perhaps Dorne? The red mountains? It won’t be too chilly during the day in November, but once the sun sets it would still be cold enough that you could use products from the winter line.” 

“I’m not bringin’ that fucking campstove,” Jon mumbles, Missandei fighting back a snicker. “But aye, I think Dorne sounds like a good idea. It’s been a while since I’ve been there, too.” 

“Alright, then it’s settled,” Margaery says. “I’ll work with the rest of marketing to get you more concrete details, and you check on that availability for me.” 

“Sounds good,” Jon says. 

“Okay, also,” Margaery says. “The brand ambassador gala is in two weeks. Has Daenerys given you all the information for it?” 

“Aye, I think so,” Jon says. “At the Red Keep on Saturday, at seven, right?” 

“Yes,” Margaery confirms. “Black tie, too. And you can bring a date, if you’d like,” she says with a cheeky smile.

Jon immediately freezes, and Dany’s sure she’s gone pale as well, staring down at her keyboard. She knows what Margaery is insinuating with her statement, but after Tuesday— gods, it’s just all too fresh. Her fears and doubts still are torturing her, and she’s sure that Jon is probably hurting from her rejection as well. 

It kills her to think about, him aching because she isn’t brave enough. But in the long run, it’s probably for the best. Having to deal with her and her trauma will only bring him heartbreak in the end. 

“And I don’t think anyone will complain if that date is Ghost,” Missandei says with a warm smile, relieving the tension in the room, making Jon relax. 

“I think having him in a room full of people wearin’ black is probably a bad idea,” he admits. “He sheds like nothin’ else.” 

“Alright, maybe no Ghost, then,” Margaery says with a pout. “I’ll still throw a lint roller in my purse, just in case. He’s too adorable to resist.” 

The rest of the meeting passes uneventfully enough, no more unbearably awkward moments between her and Jon that fill the small conference room with tension. He leaves with a promise to check on dates for the hike and a small smile to all of them— though when his eyes reach Dany’s, there’s something in them almost like longing that sort of makes her want to cry. 

As soon as he’s disappeared down the hall, she closes her laptop, desperate to escape and go wallow in her office, but Margaery and Missandei turn to her with demanding looks in their eyes, and her heart sinks. 

“What?” she asks, looking between them, pretending not to know _exactly_ what they’re about to ask. 

“You know what,” Missandei replies, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Agreed,” Margaery says. “What the _hells_ is going on between you and Jon?” 

“It’s nothing,” she says, shaking her head, but her friends don’t look convinced. 

“Dany, he wouldn’t stop staring at you,” Missandei says. “And not in an ‘it’s torturous to sit across from this woman I like who I went on a bloody _date_ with on Tuesday and not kiss her again’ way.” 

“He looked like he was about to bolt when I mentioned bringing a date for the gala,” Margaery adds. “So what is going on between you two?” 

There’s a knock on the door just then, all three of them turning to find Margaery’s assistant pushing it open hesitantly. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, Margaery,” she says apologetically. “But Loras saw your schedule is free, and he wants a word. He won’t leave your office.” 

Margaery rolls her eyes. “Tell my brother if he wants to speak with me about something he can schedule a bloody appointment like everyone else. And that I am in the middle of something _very_ important right now, and I’ll deal with him later.” Her assistant just nods, scurrying off down the hallway again as the door swings shut. “I swear to the gods, _siblings,”_ Margaery groans, before her attention snaps back to Dany. “Alright, now _spill,_ love.” 

She sighs, looking between her two friends. She doesn’t want to admit how cowardly she’d been, how she had ended things before they could really begin out of fear. But a part of her heart still aches, and she thinks, maybe, it’ll be better to get it all off her chest. 

So she tells them everything. 

“And suddenly it was all I could think about— how good it had started with Drogo, how horribly it had ended for Daario, how Jon deserves better than someone who’s not even sure her heart still works anymore…” Dany sighs dejectedly, burying her head in her hands. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I think I was just letting my fears take over.” Missandei and Margaery both look so sad for her when she finishes, Missandei standing so she can come to the other side of the table, wrap her arms around her. 

“Oh, Dany,” she says, squeezing her tightly. “Love, why didn’t you call me this weekend? I would have talked through it all with you.” 

“I know,” she says, sighing. She’s not sure why she hadn’t wanted to think it through with someone else this weekend. “I just… I don’t know. I thought I had it figured out, but now I’m not so sure.” She laughs humorlessly, and she can feel tears pricking behind her eyes, to her horror. “I guess it doesn't matter now, does it. Any chances I’ve gone and completely ruined.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Margaery says, patting her other shoulder. “He’s probably hurting right now, that’s for certain. But give him some time, and give _yourself_ some time.” She gives her a pointed look. “There’s something between you two; even a blind person could see it. And based on the way Jon looks at you, I’d bet he’s willing to wait.” 

“I think so too,” Missandei says. “You can tell him that you just need a little more time, if you want. But don’t go discounting everything just yet. I think there’s still hope.” 

“You think?” Dany asks, barely daring to let herself believe. 

“I do,” Missandei says, nodding. “You should ask him to lunch again on Tuesday. And then you can explain.” 

“Good idea,” Margaery says, just as her phone begins to ring. She groans so dramatically that Dany can’t help but laugh, Missandei grinning too as Margaery declines the call with a bit too much force. 

“I’m sorry, girls, but I have to go murder my brother,” she says, rolling her eyes as she stands and gathers her things. 

“Good luck,” Missandei wishes her. “Let us know if you need help disposing of the body.” 

“Will do,” Margaery says darkly, before leaving the conference room. Dany turns back to Missandei once she’s gone, finding comfort in her friend’s warm eyes. 

“Don’t worry, Daenerys,” Missandei tells her, squeezing her hand. “It will all work out alright, you’ll see.” 

“How do you know?” Dany asks, trying not to sound as miserable as she feels. But there’s something infectious about her best friend’s smile that makes her heart feel just a bit lighter. 

“I just do,” Missandei says, and her voice is so determined that Dany finds she can’t help but believe her as well. 

***

Shopping for formal wear should probably be declared a regular form of torture, Jon thinks. 

He’s not sure why this all has to be such a bloody big deal. All he needs is a tuxedo to rent for the evening. And yet he’s being paraded around the dressing room for his brother and goodsister like he’s some sort of fashion doll. 

The funniest thing is that it’s _Robb_ who is being demanding and choosy. Talisa is just lounging back in the overstuffed settee, enjoying being out of the house for once. 

“You’re really sure you want to come?” Robb had asked his wife, right before he and Jon had left for the shop. She’s so big now that Jon’s not sure how she’s still able to stand. 

“Yes,” she had said emphatically. “I am eight and a half months pregnant, I cannot go to work anymore, and I need to get out of this godsdamn house before I lose my mind.” 

And so the three of them had set off. 

“I dunno,” Robb says, surveying Jon’s newest ensemble. “What do you think, love?” 

“I think it looks fine,” she says, shrugging. “What about you, Jon?” 

“I think it looks like all the other bloody suits you’ve had me try on,” he says, and Robb just shakes his head. “Honestly. What is the difference between this and the last one?” 

Robb gives him a look. “How do you not see how it’s different?” 

Jon ignores that, because he truly doesn’t think he can pick out a single distinguishing one about either of them. “Why do I not remember gettin’ a tux for your wedding being this torturous?” he grumbles.

“You were still in the Watch,” Robb offers. “We did all the picking out without you.” 

“And we can’t do that again?” Jon asks, turning to go back to the dressing room. There’s just one more left the salesman had helped them pick out, thank the _gods._

“I’m sorry, who’s the one trying to impress a woman here?” Robb asks, and Jon groans. 

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” he says darkly, shrugging off the suit jacket in the doorway. 

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Robb says. “And I would have known, anyways.” 

“How is it going, with Daenerys?” Talisa asks, meeting his eyes. “Any progress from last week?” 

Jon shrugs. “The same, I suppose. We had lunch again on Tuesday. It’s sort of become a thing.” 

It’s strange, how easily it had been to go back to whatever he and Dany had before. While there’s a part of him that longs to have _more,_ to hold her close and kiss her and tell her how beautiful she is and how much she means to him, having her in his life at all is just… peace. She’s like warm sunlight, touching all the frozen parts of him, bringing heat back to the surface and thawing parts of him that he thought long dead. Even if this is all she wants from their relationship, Jon has decided it’s worth it completely, just to be around her. 

The first week had been awkward. He had been so hopeful, so sure that they were finally on the same page, and then she had dashed it all. Even if he couldn’t be mad at her, he had dreaded their meeting on Thursday, wanting to scream whenever one of Dany’s friends made reference to their relationship, the fear in her eyes at their words making his heart tear in half all over again. He’d left Tyrell that day with nothing but cynicism and bitterness, not an ounce of hope left that anything anyone had told him about Dany just needing time was true. 

But that night, she had called him, and he could hear from the hesitancy in her voice she just needed to talk. And they had, for hours and hours, until she practically fell asleep on the phone with him. 

She hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t mentioned their lunch on Tuesday at all other than to ask if he wanted to meet her again the following week— but all of a sudden, it was like none of it had happened, and now they’re back to how things were prior to the trip up North. It’s bloody _confusing,_ if he’s being honest. At first, she had all but closed herself off from him, and now they’ve gone back to that way they were before, when they were dancing on the edge of their feelings, so close to giving in. And it seems like it can’t have all been wrong, like he was imagining what was between them, with the way she smiles at him, her teasing remarks that seem almost to be flirting. When she does any of that now, it makes his heart ache, but not from sorrow. No, now it’s because finally, he has _hope_ again. 

 _Be patient with me,_ it had sounded like Dany was saying that night on the phone. And gods above, he will be, if he gets to be with her after it all. 

“That’s sweet,” Talisa says, smiling brightly at him. “I’m glad it’s better, Jon. I’m rooting for you two.” 

He chuckles. “Thanks,” he says, swinging the dressing room door closed, surveying the last tuxedo hanging there. This one is all black; Robb had rolled his eyes when he’d picked it out, but ultimately kept his words to himself. 

“So who else is going to be at this gala?” Robb asks as Jon changes. He winces at the reminder— while he knows he sort of _has_ to go, he truly does hate big parties. 

“Dunno, exactly,” Jon says, working through the buttons. “All of the company’s higher ups, and the board, and the other ambassadors, I think,” he says. All he _really_ knows is that Dany will be there. And Missandei and Margaery too, he would guess. “Dany was complainin’ about all the schmoozing she’ll have to do at lunch yesterday.” 

“At least there’s an open bar,” Talisa says wistfully, and it makes Jon chuckle. 

“Talisa, as part of my godfather duties, I’ll bring you a bottle of your favorite Dornish red to the hospital,” he jokes, smiling at his goodsister’s resounding laugh. 

“Don’t you dare,” she says. “Then I’ll be expected to share it. Bring it right to the house, please, so I can stash it away.” 

He finishes up with the bowtie, pulling on the jacket and surveying himself in the mirror. The other tuxes had all seemed the same to him, but _this—_ this he feels like he might be able to wear to this party and not feel like a _total_ imposter in. That’s another point to Robb’s question, as well. Everyone else who will be at this gala will be famous celebrities and renowned influencers, company bigwigs and Tyrell shareholders. He already hates crowds and formal gatherings enough. If he could avoid sticking out like a sore thumb even more than he already will, it would be ideal. 

He opens the door, walking back out to show his brother and goodsister. Talisa’s jaw drops, even Robb looking impressed. 

“That’s it,” she says, voice hushed. “Jon, that’s the one. She won’t be able to resist you in that.” 

Robb looks at his wife, pouting just a tad. “Are you ogling my brother right now?” he asks, to which she only rolls her eyes. 

“Robb, darling, I have been growing your child for the past nine months; I _really_ don’t think you have anything to worry about,” she says, giving him a placating pat on the arm. “I’m just pointing out the objective statement that your brother looks _hot.”_

“Thanks,” he says sarcastically, giving Talisa a look. She returns it with one of her own, affronted. 

“Hey, I know you keep saying you’ll be patient with her, but I am all in favor of speeding things up if possible,” Talisa says. “And I think that is the _exact_ look to do just that.” 

His heart leaps in his chest, thinking of Dany seeing him in this tux. He knows, in theory, that it’s a black tie event, but he had sort of forgotten until right now that she’ll be dressed up as well. His pulse races, mind suddenly filled with visions of her in an evening dress, looking more beautiful than the stars in the sky above. 

“It’s really alright?” Jon asks, turning to survey himself in the mirror. 

“It is. It’s perfect, Jon,” Talisa assures him. “It looks like it was made for you.” 

“Aye, it does,” Robb says, nodding. He sighs, giving Jon a look. “I hate to admit it, but the all-black really works.” 

Jon just grins back at his brother. “Well, it always was my color.” 

***

Jon’s driven by the Red Keep a number of times, but he's never been inside it before. 

It looks every inch the palace it had once been, tall ceilings and gilded carvings and ornate chandeliers. He fidgets with his tuxedo jacket as he’s ushered through the main hall, following the rest of the mass of people heading inside. 

The now-entrance hall had once been the throne room for the great kings and queens of Westeros, and the vacant Iron Throne still sits at the head of the room, on a dais. His eyes linger on the melted blades that form the imposing seat as he follows the crowd around, into the ballrooms. 

He remembers just how much he hates events like this as soon as he enters the sprawling room. His skin crawls at all the people surrounding him, his hand flying to the back of his neck as he tries to calm his heart rate. It’s decorated beautifully, and as his eyes dart around the hall, he realizes there are enormous picture of all the different sponsors littering the walls, all of them at least ten feet tall. 

There’s one of him and Ghost, looking impressive as they gaze off into the distance, but as strange as it is to see himself blown up in the glossy image, it’s not the one that catches him the most off guard. His heart leaps into his throat as he spots one of him and Dany in the mountains, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked on each other as he cradles her face in his hand. Others take him, if he’s going to have to look at _that_ reminder of their time up North and what could have been all night, he’s going to need a fucking drink. 

The bar is easy enough to locate, already crawling with people despite the fact that the party’s not even an hour in. There are waiters wading through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres, but he needs something a little stronger than that. 

Remembering Dany had said the bar was open, he orders himself a glass of _very_ expensive whiskey, taking a slow sip of it as he turns and surveys the crowd. Everyone talks and mingles, Jon feeling more and more out of place as the seconds tick by. A man comes up next to him at the bar to order a drink, and Jon is fairly certain the watch on his wrist costs more than he’s paid in an entire year. 

He takes another sip of his drink, foolishly wishing for Dany. It makes him feel like a child who’s lost his mum in a store, but really, she’s the only reason he’s here. He had known going in that she would be busy dealing with work people, but he’s beginning to wonder if it’s even worth being here. 

“Jon!” he hears to his left, and he turns, relieved to find Margaery there. Her curls are twisted into some fancy updo, her dress cut so scandalously that Jon hopes she’s taped into it. 

“Hullo,” he says in greeting, giving her a smile. Gods, it’s a relief to see someone he knows. 

“Don't you look dashing!” she says, surveying him from head to toe. His brow furrows, and she laughs, batting a hand at him. 

“Don’t worry, I still much prefer your sister,” she tells him with a wink. There’s a flush to her cheeks, he notices, as the bartender drops a drink before her without even having to ask for her order. “Thanks, love,” she tells the man, to which he just nods. 

“Margaery,” Jon says, a grin playing at his lips. “You’re not drunk, are you?” 

“Gods, Jon, you don’t expect me to get through this sober, do you?” she says, only slightly accusatory. “Besides, my _darling_ brother will certainly be off flirting with Renly all night, so I’m afraid Tyrell schmoozing duties are dropped solely on me.” She snorts, making him laugh. “And the only way I’m dealing with Tywin Lannister is if I’m fucking sloshed.” 

“Fair enough,” he says with a shrug, leaning back against the bar next to her. “Gods know I’m going to need plenty of alcohol as well.” 

Margaery quirks an eyebrow at him. “Corporate galas not your scene?” she teases, and he chuckles. 

“I’ve never been to one before, so I can’t quite say. But I’m not particularly a fan of large parties,” he tells her. She just hums. 

“Still, it looks lovely,” he adds. Even if he does have a certain hatred of large crowds and he feels like an outsider among all these multi millionaires and corporate executives, there’s no denying how beautiful everything is. “Did you set this one up as well?” 

She scoffs at that. “Thank the gods, no. We have event planners for this one. But they did a good job, didn’t they?” She looks around the room, eyes landing on the enormous photos from the shoot again. She grins at him cheekily. “I think the ambassador photos are a nice touch.” 

Jon narrows his eyes at her, but he can tell that she knows he’s kidding, just from the way she laughs at his expression. “Did you pick them out?” he asks, genuinely curious. He can’t imagine Dany would want that picture of them hung for all to see. 

“No, I didn’t. Would you believe it, my _grandmother_ did,” Margaery says, her smile practically blinding. Jon just blinks at her for a moment, taken aback. 

She takes a long sip of her drink, the glass almost empty again. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I’ve got to go mingle, unfortunately,” she says, pouting. His heart sinks a little, at the idea of her leaving. Talking to Margaery is nice. And it’s distracting him from searching the room thoroughly for Dany. 

“I’ve heard from your sister that you can be closed off and broody,” Margaery says, giggling at the expression that crosses his face. The _nerve_ of Sansa, honestly. “But don’t be afraid to go out there and mingle. This is all for you, technically,” she says, sweeping her hands out in front of them at the crowds of people. 

“Shouldn’t it technically be for Ghost?” he jokes, and his lips twitch up in a smile when Margaery laughs. 

“I suppose you’re right. Probably a good thing you didn’t bring him though, like you said. I’d hate to see that tux all covered in dog hair.” She smiles at him appraisingly, a glint of something almost wicked in her eyes. “The all-black is a _very_ good look on you. Daenerys is going to _die_ when she sees you.” 

“Margaery—” he says, heart catching in his throat, caught off guard by her words. 

“Look,” Margaery says, stepping closer to him, practically whispering in his ear. “Just between you and me,” she says, “I wouldn’t give up hope with her just yet. You know how stubborn she is. And I’ve never seen her be more stubborn than when it comes to trusting her own heart.” 

His heart races in his chest, that tentative hope that had been fighting to take hold for the past two weeks finally coming away victorious. Margaery doesn’t wait for him to finish processing before she pushes off the bar, patting him on the arm quickly. 

“Have fun, Jon,” she teases, that brilliant smile back. “And remember. This is all _much_ more enjoyable if you’re drunk.” 

“Good luck schmoozin’,” he calls after her, and she laughs, waggling her fingers at him as she disappears into the crowd again. 

As soon as Margaery leaves, her words fill his mind completely, making his pulse quicken and his heart beat anxiously. She sounded so _certain_ that there might still be hope for him yet. And while he’s glad things are no longer terrible and awkward between him and Dany, while he loves having her in his life regardless of how, _gods,_ if there’s a chance she could someday _truly_ return his feelings, he’s fairly sure he would wait a lifetime to get to that day. 

He scans the crowds again, desperately hoping to finally catch a glimpse of her, talk to her, _anything._

And as if summoned by his thoughts, the throng before him parts, and she fills his vision. 

Jon’s breath catches, taking her in. She looks _beautiful,_ absolutely beautiful as she talks with an old, balding man, laughing at whatever he had to say. Not that she doesn’t always look beautiful, because gods, she does, but… he can’t exactly form coherent thought, looking at her right now. 

She’s dressed in all black as well, her hair straightened and hanging down her back in a silky sheet brighter than moonlight. Her dress is simple, he supposes, but it hugs all her curves like it was made just for her, the deep v neck leaving the creamy skin between her breasts exposed. Lust hits him like a freight train, his mouth going dry as he takes her in, wanting nothing more in the _world_ than to take her in his arms, trace every curve of her so easily exposed by that sinful garment, press kisses to her cleavage and feel her heartbeat underneath his lips. 

 _Gods,_ he hopes Margaery is right. 

He just stands there, watching her like a lovestruck fool, unable to tear his eyes away. After a moment or two, she must notice, because she turns towards him, eyes finally meeting his, electricity crackling in the air between them. 

Or maybe that’s just him.

She has to be more than twenty feet away, but it feels like everything else in the ballroom fades away as she takes a slow, purposeful step towards him. He thinks she murmurs something to the man she’s with, giving him a warm smile as she continues along her path, champagne flute hanging from her fingertips. 

It feels like an eternity later when she’s finally before him, and gods, it takes every ounce of strength he has not to lean down and kiss her right then, capture her sweet mouth with his and wrap her in his arms like every _fibre_ of his body is begging him to. She looks up at him with wide eyes, the smoky makeup and darkened lashes framing them making them seem even more blue. Her lips are painted a vibrant shade of crimson, and he can’t stop staring at her. 

“You made it,” Dany says, almost breathless, and it’s then that he notices _she’s_ looking at him the same way as he’s looking at her, eyes raking over his body hungrily. Something animalistic inside him roars with triumph. 

“Aye, I did,” he agrees. “Dany, you look beautiful.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and suddenly he freezes, scared he’s pushed her too much, been too forward. Even if Margaery thinks differently, she had still told him two weeks ago she wants to forget what had happened between them up North. But her cheeks flush ever so faintly, and she smiles at him, soft and full of warmth. 

“Thank you,” she says, and the sincerity in her voice makes his heart ache. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.” 

Jon laughs. “Robb almost pitched a fit when I picked out an all black tuxedo.” 

She smiles at that, and suddenly there’s a glint in her eye, almost predatory. 

“Well, I’m glad you did. It looks wonderful on you.” Her lips twitch upwards a tad more. “And now we match.” 

He chuckles, stepping closer to her. He can’t even help it; it’s like she’s some magnetic force, and resisting her would break the laws of nature itself. 

“Aye, we do.” He leans against the bar, placing his empty glass on the polished surface, and a bartender whisks it away almost immediately, replacing it with another. “How’s your mingling been goin’?” 

She rolls her eyes, and suddenly she looks like she does back in the office, after ranting about how _incompetent_ people can be to him while he selects images for his social media posts. “I’d rather shove an ice pick through the side of my head than have one more old man explain _just_ what we should do to make the company run better.” He chuckles, watching as she flicks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I swear to the gods, I don’t know how Olenna deals with all the board members so frequently.” 

He shrugs. “I ran into Margaery earlier. Seemed like her strategy for dealing with just that was to get shitfaced.” 

Dany laughs. “Believe me, I’m working on it,” she assures him, taking another sip of her drink. He watches her as she tilts her head back, itching to sink his fingers into her hair, hold her head back as he traces down the column of her throat with his tongue. 

She looks back at him, just a tad inquisitive, and Jon tries to school his expression into something neutral, not give away all the different ways that he’s fantasizing about her. She’s certainly not making it easy to keep his thoughts work-appropriate, that’s for damn sure. 

“Have you had the champagne? It's quite good.” She raises her eyebrows, lips leaving a red stain on the edge of her flute. “And quite expensive. Olenna’s assured me.” 

He should respond, he knows, but he can’t stop fantasizing about Dany’s scarlet lips marking his skin instead of that glass. 

“I’ll have to try it,” he tells her, but his voice comes out gruffer than expected, his heart pounding frantically as she leans into the bar next to him, and he tries desperately not to ogle her perfect cleavage.

 “Want to know a secret?” she asks, smiling enticingly, and Jon can’t help but grin in return. He wants to know anything she’ll tell him. Her eyes twinkle. “I’ve had more glasses of three hundred dollar champagne in my life than I care to admit,” she tells him. “And yet, I still can’t tell the bloody difference between it and the six dollar bottles.” 

That makes him laugh, taking another sip of his whiskey. “I don’t think I’ve ever had three hundred dollar champagne, but I bet I won’t be able to tell either,” he says, and she grins at him, finishing off her glass. He wants to stay in this moment with her forever, the din of the ballroom fading out around them, the only thing in the world that matters Dany, her beauty still taking his breath away, making his blood run hot. He’d give anything to just spend the rest of the night right here with her. 

But that, he knows, is wishful thinking. A voice echoes through the crowd, calling Dany’s name, and she sighs, deflating a bit. Selfishly, Jon hopes it’s because she doesn’t want to leave him either. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice flatter. “Duty calls, unfortunately.” He just shakes his head in understanding. 

“Of course,” he says. “Have fun mingling.” 

“Kill me now,” she mumbles, leaving her empty champagne flute on the bar, snagging a new one before heading back into the lion’s den. She offers him one last smile before turning to walk away,  and as Jon watches her go, he almost audibly groans. There’s a slit up the back of her dress, almost to the top of her thighs, revealing the creamy skin of her gorgeous legs with every step, black fabric swishing against them. 

He thinks the whiskey is going to his head already, because he can’t seem to think about anything but holding Dany pressed up against him, her back flush to his chest as he slips his hand through the slit in her skirt, exploring her body with his hands while she melts in his arms. 

He really should have anticipated what seeing Dany in formal wear would do to him, the bloody fool that he is. 

He tries not to follow her with his eyes too closely, but the truth is that once she’s gone, the event goes back to being torturous quicker than a candle being snuffed out. Alone at the bar again, Jon sips on his drink, trying to avoid the elbowing crowds of people clamoring for more free alcohol as best he can. 

Minutes tick by like they’re hours, and as time passes, Jon grows more and more miserable, counting down to the time when he can leave and go home, take off this stupid tux and just sit on the sofa with Ghost. He misses Dany, knowing that she’s here for work, but wishing that she could just stay with him. It’s selfish, he knows. And yet he can’t help but be selfish now. 

He feels eyes on him, making his skin crawl, apprehension prickling up his spine. Jon turns to find the man next to him studying him intently, brow furrowed like he recognizes him. Something niggling in the back of his mind says that this man looks familiar, but he can’t tell why.

A few people have asked Jon if that’s him on the posters hanging around, so it shocks him a little when the man opens his mouth and says, in a very heavy Essosi accent, “You are Daenerys’s man, no?” 

“Er,” Jon says, his heart picking up, wishing that were a true introduction for himself. “If you mean I sort of work with her, aye, I guess—” 

“No,” the man says, his unwavering stare almost nerve wracking. “I am Grey, Missandei’s boyfriend. You are the one they go up North with, aren’t you?” 

“Oh,” Jon says, now realizing that he _does_ recognize Grey. “Aye, that’s me. I’m Jon. I’m sorry, I thought I recognized you— I work at the bar you were all at for your nameday.” 

“Right,” Grey says, nodding. Now that they know who each other are, the other man seems to relax a little. “Missandei says North is beautiful. Thank you, for showing her and Daenerys.” 

“Of course,” Jon says, nodding awkwardly. “It was my pleasure. I’m glad they were able to find the time while they were up there.” 

He means it sincerely, but Grey smiles a little all the same. “They both work too much,” Grey says, and Jon has to laugh at that. “Even here, at a party, they both work.” 

“I don’t envy them that, that’s for damn sure,” Jon says, and Grey cracks a smile again. “Talkin’ to all these people here about the company seems exhausting.” 

He and Grey talk a little bit, the time suddenly passing at a much more manageable rate he finds. But still, during the lulls of their conversation, his eyes find Dany in the crowd, wishing he could pull her away from all her responsibilities, that things were different and they could just spend the night wrapped up in each other, in more ways than one. 

 _You are Daenerys’s man,_ he hears Grey say in his head again as he catches sight of Dany in the crowd, cheeks flushed pink and smile radiant. And gods, he wishes those words were true as well. 

***

Dany’s cheeks are beginning to hurt from smiling so much. 

“Lovely to see you as always, dear,” Barristan says, and Dany grins genuinely at him, because their conversation had actually been nice, instead of rage-inducing. She swears to the gods, if Mace Tyrell tries to give her advice on how to do her job again after Olenna has all but written him out of the family company, she’s going to _scream._

She fucking hates events like this, for this exact reason. Parties are supposed to be _fun,_ and yet she always ends up spending them socializing with people who make her test her self restraint to not roll her eyes at them repeatedly. 

“Hello, dove,” Margaery says, waltzing up to Dany with a drink in each hand, passing one off to her immediately. Her cheeks are already flushed rosily, eyes a little glazed, and Dany laughs at her friend. “You look like you could use another drink.” 

“As opposed to you,” Dany says. She’s still entirely too sober for this, to be honest. 

“I just spent twenty minutes speaking to Tywin fucking Lannister, I don’t want to hear it,” Margaery insists. Missandei appears next to her, Margaery’s smile somehow growing wider at the sight of the other woman. 

“She’s had a bit to drink,” Dany says to Missandei, giggling at how affronted Margaery looks. 

“Lucky,” Missandei says, taking Margaery’s full drink and gulping half of it down. “I’ve just finished the rounds, I think. I even spoke to Olenna, who seems surprisingly sober, despite the very empty wine glass in her hand.” 

“My grandmother can drink anyone under the table,” Margaery declares, shaking her head in wonder. “I honestly don’t know how she does it. I’ve seen her knock back shots and not bat an eye.” 

“What about you?” Missandei asks, directed at Dany this time. She fixes her necklace, the diamonds sparkling against the hollow of her throat. 

“I think I’m done as well,” she says. “Or done enough, anyways. I’ve hit all the big people. And I’m sick of talking about work. I’d like to get drunk now.” 

“Good, let’s dance,” Margaery says, jumping up and down in a way that would have Dany worried if she didn’t know exactly how much body tape was holding her dress in place. “I’ve been dying to all night.” 

But Dany tunes out the pleas of her friends for a moment, eyes surveying the hall. And there he is— still leaned up against the bar, whiskey glass in hand, looking downright _miserable._

And incredibly, incredibly attractive. Dany’s still amazed her knees didn’t give out when she first laid eyes on Jon in that tuxedo. 

“Alright,” Missandei says, and Dany turns back to her, prickling at the knowing smirk on her friend’s face. “Go rescue Jon. We all know you want to.” 

“I do feel bad,” Dany says, pulling a pout. “I shouldn’t have told him that sponsors had to come; he told me he doesn’t like things like this.” 

“Oh, please,” Margaery says, rolling her eyes dramatically. “We all know he would have come anyway, just because _you’re_ here.” 

“Margaery,” Dany says, her cheeks flushing. Yes, she certainly _hopes_ Jon’s here because of her, and while things for the past few weeks have been better than they were right after she shut down whatever was happening between them, she doesn’t want to let herself hope _too_ much that not everything is ruined. She’s still scared of the possibility of it all, so instead she’s been shutting it away, declaring she’ll deal with it at another time. 

“Daenerys,” Margaery returns. “I told him earlier there was still hope for him yet, and I swear to the gods, I saw his heart grow wings. Whatever chance you think you’ve ruined, you _haven’t.”_

“Wait,” Dany says, her heart _stopping._ “You did _what?!”_

“Calm down, I was very subtle,” Margaery assures her. Missandei just snorts at that in laughter. “But I’m telling you, love. He’s still got it bad for you.” 

“But…” Dany says, heart positively racing in her chest. “I still don’t know, I don’t know if I can do this—” 

“Enough,” Missandei says, leaning into her. “Stop overthinking things. We’re at a party with _free alcohol_ and the man you like is here, looking absolutely _delectable_ in that tuxedo. So go get him and dance with him, and have _fun._ It’s not like we’re asking you to marry him on the spot. Worry about everything else later.” 

“I’m not sure I can do that,” she admits, fear running through her again, taking hold of her heart. But Margaery’s having none of it— she pushes her drink into Missandei’s hands, leaning over to take Dany’s face in hers. 

“Daenerys Targaryen, listen to me,” she says, tone commanding. “You are beautiful and brilliant and you deserve to be happy, and you _are_ capable of loving people. So finish your drink, tell your brain to shut the fuck up, and just _trust your heart._ And go get Jon, because I guarantee that man is waiting for you to come save him.” 

She closes her eyes, inhaling slowly. 

She can do this. She wants to see Jon, wants to celebrate with him— he’s one of the very few things at this miserable event that’s actually made her smile. She can forget about anything Margaery might have said to him, sort out her feelings later. 

She throws back the rest of her drink, swallowing the bitter liquid, as her friends cheer. 

“Now go rescue your man!” Missandei says, finishing off Margaery’s drink, and with that, she turns on her heel, stalking across the ballroom to the bar before she can second guess herself anymore. 

Jon’s leaning back against the polished surface, looking positively like something out of a magazine, and it makes her heart speed up, heat flooding her veins. The all black suit looks _fantastic_ on him, fitting his lean body like a glove, all the hard planes and sharp lines that she wants to trace with her fingers, commit to memory. The dark color makes his eyes even richer, she thinks, the little bits of gold in the beautiful brown enchanting. And his hair is _down—_ she’s never seen him without his raven curls bound back, but now they’re loose and around his face, looking tantalizingly soft. She wants to run her fingers through them, let them tangle in the silky strands as she pulls his face down to hers, leaning in and kissing him again, with all the heat that’s been building since the first time she tasted him. 

All night, in between talking to stuffy old men and rich beneficiaries who think they know best, her eyes have sought him out, wishing more than anything she was next to him instead of talking with all these snobby, entitled higher-ups. All she’s wanted to do since she first spoke to him early in the night was take his hand and let him pull her away from her, get lost in him like there’s nothing else in the entire world but the two of them. 

But then she blinks, and that fear is back. The fear that she can’t do this, that her heart isn’t ready for whatever is between her and Jon. She inhales, trying to channel Margaery’s words, to just _let go_ and have fun. She doesn’t need to have everything figured out tonight. This doesn’t need to be about feelings. This can just be about Jon. 

“Hey,” she says as she approaches the bar, and Jon turns to look at her, a smile creeping onto his face as he takes her in. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes skate over her, lingering on her low neckline, her scarlet lips, and it makes her flush a little with pleasure. 

“You look like you could use rescuing,” she says, leaning up against the bar top next to him, and he huffs in laughter. That little smile she loves tugs at his lips, crooked and secretive, and she can’t help but return it with one of her own. 

“What makes you think that?” he jokes, and she laughs. 

“You look absolutely miserable, Jon,” she says, raising an eyebrow, and he shrugs. 

“You looked about the same out there, talkin’ with all those people,” he says, and a wave of happiness crashes through her, knowing he’s been watching her all night just as she has him. 

“Well, I’m finally free of schmoozing, and now I want to get drunk and actually have _fun,”_ she says. “So what do you say? Do you want to come dance with me and my friends?” 

“I dunno,” he says, but already she can tell he’s teasing her, and her laughter bubbles up before he can even finish. “I’ve made quite a few friends at the bar tonight.” 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I can see them all begging you to stay.” 

She pushes off the bar, offering her hand to him, and when he takes it, her heart beats so fast that Dany thinks it could escape her chest if it really tried. 

They weave through the crowd of people, back to where Missandei and Margaery have claimed a spot on the dance floor, Grey having joined them as well. “Jon!” Margaery says excitedly, raising her new drink to him as a new song begins. “So nice of you to join us!” 

A waiter walks through the crowd with a tray of drinks; Dany snatches two, handing one to Jon and smiling as she takes a large sip.

“I love this song,” Missandei sighs, grabbing Dany’s hand and twirling her under her arm, making her giggle. Jon watches her, a smile pulling at his lips as they dance and jump to the music, responsibilities of work already long forgotten. He meets her eyes, and there's a heat in them that makes her flush with happiness, swaying her hips enticingly. 

“C’mon, Jon, you have to _dance,”_ Margaery says with a sigh, nudging him with her hip. He chuckles, taking another swig of his drink. Dany wonders if he’s drunk at all. She can feel the beginning fuzziness of her last drink already, the lights flashing brightly as they move to the music. 

“You want me to dance, I’m going to need to be drunker than this,” he tells them. 

“There’s a drink in your hand, isn’t there?” Margaery responds, arching an eyebrow at him. He shrugs in defeat, throwing back the rest of the drink to her friends’ cheers. 

It’s true— the more he drinks, the looser he gets, more comfortable with moving like the rest of the group. The thing that Dany doesn’t expect is that he’s _good. Really_ good. He moves his shoulders back and forth smoothly, exactly to the beat of the music, and it’s enough to make her belly flood with heat, want coursing through her and making her wish that they weren’t surrounded by her friends right now. 

As she finishes off her glass, the alcohol making her mind hazier, she finds she cares about their presence a little less anyways. 

“You dance like such a ponce!” she teases, and Jon tips his head back, laughing. She’s not sure she’s ever heard him laugh so purely, and her heart squeezes at the thought. 

“How so?” he asks, arching a brow at her in accusation, and she scoffs. 

“You know what you’re doing,” she tells him. “Like this.” She tries to do what he’s doing, even imitating his smoulder, and he chuckles again. 

“Gods, do I really look like that?” he asks, and she nods. 

“Afraid so. Don't worry, you look _really_ good doing it,” she adds, before she can even consider the implications of her words. But Jon doesn’t seem to mind, his gaze growing more heated as he watches her. 

The music shifts, the clubby beat of the old song giving way to something softer, slower. She immediately recognizes it as one of Podrick’s— it’s an old Westerosi folk song, but he had redone it a few years ago and made it a chart topper. She turns to look at her friends behind them: Missandei is already wrapped up in Grey’s arms, Margaery having disappeared to find more drinks. When she turns back to Jon, his eyes are softer, almost hesitant. 

“D’you wanna dance?” he asks, and her heart pounds at the _hope_ written across his beautiful features. Normally, she would worry, she would be terrified of what this means and back out like a coward, but right now— all the champagne has made her head pleasantly fuzzy, and she can find no reason not to spend the song wrapped up in Jon’s arms. She nods, and his responding smile is brilliant, white teeth behind those plump lips, lines creasing next to his eyes. 

Dany loops her arms around Jon, letting him pull her into his chest, resting her head right against his heart. She can feel it beating frantically beneath his dress shirt as his hands find her hips, fingers warm, heat sinking into her skin from his palms, even through her dress. They sway back and forth to the song, not saying a word, but they don’t really need to. It’s just enough to be tangled in each other’s arms, pressed close together like they’re puzzle pieces made for each other. 

That’s how Dany feels when she’s in Jon’s arms. Like she’s finally found a missing piece of herself.

It should be really scary, probably. It should terrify her, how monumental this thing between them is, how deep her feelings for Jon run. But oddly, with her mind hazy from alcohol, it makes everything a little bit clearer, her fears melting away. How can something with Jon be a trick of her mind? How can these feelings not be real? 

The only truth she really knows is how much she cares for this man. 

His head ducks down to rest against hers, thumbs tracing up her sides as they sway to the music, Dany tightening her arms around him in turn. She doesn’t want the song to end, doesn’t want to have to untangle herself from him and force all this distance back between them. Jon seems to feel the same way, because even as the song ends, he pulls her closer instead of backing away. Like he too is savoring every moment of this. 

The crowd is beginning to thin out on the dance floor, people beginning to go home now that the hour has grown late. The bright lights above dance on the edge of Dany’s vision, but she looks up at Jon, staring right into his eyes, and he’s all she can really see. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asks, pushing aside the implications and all it means and just acting on feeling. The alcohol coursing through her system is definitely helping with that. All she wants is to leave this gala, spend the rest of the night just with Jon. 

His eyes widen, blinking at her dumbfoundedly. “Dany,” he says, his voice low and hoarse, and it sends a thrill through her, fire coursing through her veins, desire pooling low in her belly. _Gods,_ she really wants to kiss him. 

“What d’you mean?” he asks, still a little confused, and she just smiles at him. 

“My feet are killing me, and I want to leave,” she says. “Do you want to come with me?” 

“Where are we going?” he asks, studying her intently. The depth of his gaze is enough to take her breath away. 

“Do you trust me?” She blinks up at him, holding her breath as she waits for his answer, not even realizing what a monumental question it is until after she’s already posed it. 

“Aye, I trust you,” Jon says, voice audibly softer, that little smile tugging at his lips. Dany beams in response, offering him her hand. 

When he takes it, lets her drag him from the gala hall, it feels like everything in the world is truly the way it should be. 

***

Jon laughs when he finally realizes where they are, both of them scrambling out of the uber ungracefully. 

“Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her as they step onto the curb in front of the bar that he works at. 

“Well, you can get me a discount, can’t you?” Dany asks, mocking innocence.

“You didn’t have enough at the party?” he asks, and she scoffs. 

“Please. I’m about three or four drinks in. I want to be on Margaery levels.” At that, Jon just chuckles, taking her hand and leading her inside. 

The few people still left at the bar at _this_ late hour survey the two of them dubiously, taking in their more-than-formal wear. There’s an old man tending bar, Jon grinning when he sees him.

“Davos,” Jon calls, and the man looks up, eyebrows raising.

“You know I did give you the night off, don’t you?” he asks, his Fleabottom accent strong. 

“Aye, I’m not here to work,” he says, pulling Dany over to the bar, where two empty seats stand at the end. “Davos, this is Dany. Dany, this is my boss.” 

“Ah, so you’re the one that has him askin’ for more weekends off?” the old man says, and Dany just blinks. But then he smiles warmly, eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’. It’s good to meet you, finally. Jon never stops talkin’ about you.” 

“Davos,” Jon hisses, but Dany’s heart thumps in her chest, beaming at Jon. Obviously, by now she knows that he has feelings for her, but hearing the reassurance from others still makes her stomach swoop. 

“What’re you kids drinkin’?” Davos asks. “‘Fraid I don’t have any fancy champagne to match those outfits, but I’ve got plenty of other things.” 

“What d’you want?” Jon asks her, eyes soft. 

“Hmm,” she says, considering. All she’s drunk all night is expensive champagne. She needs something good and hard. Thinking back to Jon earlier at the bar, leaning up against it and looking like a work of art with a highball in his hand, her mind is suddenly made up. 

“Whiskey,” she says, and Jon grins at her. 

“First round’s on the house,” Davos says with a wink, setting down shot glasses in front of them, filling them up. She plucks up one of the drinks, tilting it towards Jon in cheers. 

“To corporate galas,” she says, and he smiles. 

“Aye. To corporate galas. Thank the gods I never have to go to one again.” 

Time ceases to exist when she’s talking to Jon like this, just the two of them in their own little world, only occasionally interrupted by Davos, who keeps pouring them rounds. She tries to give him a credit card at one point, but he waves her off, giving Jon a fatherly smile in response to his scowl. She’s not sure how many rounds in they are at this point, but she feels _fantastic,_ head a little light and vision a little blurred, the only thing in true focus Jon’s beautiful face. He laughs at something she says, his teeth blinding as his lips curl up in a smile, clinking their glasses again before downing the whiskey. 

The liquor burns her throat, but she doesn’t mind in the slightest. Drunk like this, there’s no room in her mind for fears or doubts or any of that silliness. All she can think about is how she feels right now, and it’s so _freeing._

“You’re so _smiley_ when you’re drunk,” Dany accuses, and that just makes Jon laugh more, though his grin is incredulous. 

“What d’you mean?” he demands, and Dany licks her lips, tasting the whiskey still on them. His northern accent gets thicker when he’s intoxicated, and it just makes her more attracted to him. 

“What do you think I mean?” she asks. “I think I’ve seen your teeth more in the past _hour_ than I have in all the months I’ve known you.” 

“That’s surprising, seein’ as all my fuckin’ siblings seem to say is I smile more around you,” he grumbles, and Dany’s heart quickens at his words, lips ticking up. 

“Aww,” she coos, nudging him with her shoulder, and he laughs. Their chairs are pushed so close together than their legs touch, Jon’s tuxedo jacket draped over her to keep her warm. “What do they say you’re like when you’re not around me?” 

“Sullen and broody,” he says, rolling his eyes, and _gods_ it’s unfair how fucking attractive he is when he pouts. 

“Mmm, I can see their point,” she says, and he looks back to her, scowling. It only lasts for a second, though, before his lips are curling back up into a smile, and she has to admit, she likes that look on him much better. 

“It’s alright,” she whispers, like it’s a secret. “Lucky for you, you look _very_ good brooding.” 

“I appreciate it,” he teases, but there’s a softness to his eyes, hope filling them as his brown irises meet hers. When he turns his head just so, the light of the bar overhead catches on the side of his face, casting the thin scar through his eyebrow into relief. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Dany says, reaching over before she can stop herself, tracing a finger along the thin line. All her self control disappeared somewhere in between the second and third shots. Jon’s eyes slide closed for a moment, and when they open again, they’re like molten. 

“How’d you get this?” she asks. “Was it from the Watch?” 

“No, it wasn’t,” Jon says with a chuckle. “I got attacked by an eagle.” 

Her jaw drops, grinning at him. _“What?”_

“Aye, when I was seventeen,” he says. “Robb and I were hikin’ in the mountains. I wandered too close to her nest. She almost took my eye out.” 

“It makes you look very tough,” she says, and he rolls his eyes, though the way his lips tick up is full of adoration. 

“Another round?” Davos asks, materializing before them, and Jon looks to her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes, please,” she says with a grin, pushing her glass towards the old man. He fills both of them again, giving them an amused smile as they clink glasses once again, downing the round. 

“Davos is nice,” Dany tells him, and he nods. “You’re friends with a lot of barkeeps, you know.” 

Jon laughs. “Aye, I suppose I am. In my defense, I knew Tormund before he was a barkeep, and Davos is my boss.” 

“Oh, Tormund,” Dany says, tipping her head back and laughing. “I don’t think I’ve ever met _anyone_ quite like him.” 

“I don’t think I have either,” Jon admits. He pauses, giving her a look, and she raises an eyebrow at him curiously. 

“What?” she asks, but he just shakes his head.

“Nothin’,” he says, but she’s not buying it. 

“Jon. What is it?” But he still doesn’t say anything. She rolls her eyes at him. “Please. You should really be taking advantage of the fact that I have completely obliterated any filter I may have had with alcohol.” 

He chuckles at that, his eyes meeting hers, full of curiosity. “Alright, fine,” he relents. “What did he say to you, that night at the pub, up North?” 

Her brow furrows. “Tormund?” Jon nods. She pauses, trying to remember. 

“Well, I did think for a moment that _he_ was perhaps in love with you, the way he was talking you up” she teases, and Jon rolls his eyes, smiling. “But… I’m trying to remember. He said something about how you’re brave, and selfless, and you always do the right thing, even if it’s hard. And that I shouldn’t be put off by your broody exterior.” Jon huffs at that, squinting at her in aggravation, and she laughs. 

“Hey, I’m just telling you what he said,” she says, hands spread in surrender. “But he said beneath all the brooding and sullenness, you’re a good man, with a good heart.” 

“Oh, seven hells,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “Tormund’s gone soft, it seems.” 

She laughs, leaning in closer to him. “It’s true, though,” she says, and his eyes meet hers. She can count every different shade of brown in them, even with her vision a little hazy.

“You are a good man, Jon,” she says, and he swallows, his smile disappearing, the look on his face replaced with something else. “You’re _so_ good, even if you don’t think it. Which is good, because I… I need good men.” She sighs, tracing her finger around the rim of the glass. “I can’t remember the last good man in my life. My _shitty_ ex went and ruined my heart, and now I’m still trying to figure out if it even works at all anymore.” She looks up at him, and something about the glint in his eyes makes her want to tell him everything. “I hope it does, now. I’ve never hoped it does so much as I did after I got to know you.” 

“Dany,” he says, voice soft, words coming out all in a rush. But she keeps talking, the alcohol having done away with not just her fears, but her filters as well. 

“I’m trying, really,” she tells him. She just… needs him to understand. That she wants to be with him so badly. She’s still just trying to figure out how. “It’s hard, after everything that happened with Drogo. So I’m sorry, if I’ve dashed your heart, or if you’re sick of waiting. I’m trying to get there, I promise.” 

“It’s alright,” he says, taking her hand on top of the bar, squeezing it. “I know you are. I’m not holdin’ it against you, Dany.” He smiles at her, small and sweet. “Take your time, alright? I’ll be here after, still hopin’.” 

The warmth of his hand in hers is lovely, making her heart soar, her stomach fill with butterflies. Her eyes skate over him, taking in this beautiful, lovely man before her, who is kind and patient and so _good._ So much better than she deserves. She wants to get lost in him, wrap herself up in his arms, spend the rest of her days learning everything there is to know about Jon Snow, from the taste of his lips and the way he feels inside of her to what he looks like in the morning, sleep rumpled and peaceful. She wants to know his hopes and his dreams, the demons that haunt his past, the ghosts he’s still trying to keep at bay. Just… _everything._

Jon looks past her at the sound of something across the bar, eyebrows raising as he turns back to her. “It’s nearly two in the morning,” he says, and her jaw drops. 

“Truly?” It feels like no time at all has passed since they’d left the gala. 

“Aye. You want to head home?” 

“Probably,” she says, yawning. Now that she thinks about it, she _is_ rather sleepy, the alcohol doing nothing to help on that front. 

Jon stands from his chair, and she follows suit, though she forgets about the six inch heels she’s wearing till she’s already stumbling over her feet, swaying as she tries to find her balance, the room swimming. “Whoa,” she says, and Jon takes her waist, grinning at her. 

“You alright?” he asks, and she nods, leaning into him. He pulls his phone from his pants pocket, her eyes sliding closed as he guides her to the door. She rattles off her address when he asks for it, content to just rest her head on his shoulder and wait for their car to arrive. 

“Goodnight, Davos,” Jon calls a moment later, and she straightens up, the room spinning around her again as her blurry sights land on the old man at the bar. 

“Lovely to meet you,” she calls as Jon takes her waist, opening the door for her. 

“You as well, Daenerys,” Davos says, giving them both a wave, before they’re out in the cool night air of King’s Landing again. She shivers in Jon’s jacket as he gets her into the car, sliding into the seat next to her and closing the door. 

She leans back into his side, reveling in the warmth of his body, the feeling of his shoulder under her head, as the illuminated buildings of King’s Landing flash by, dancing across the window of the car like a string of Christmas lights. Jon tightens his arm around her, and as she breathes in the scent of his cologne, nuzzles closer into his neck, Dany thinks this might be the closest thing to perfect she’s felt in six long years. 

***

It’s when their uber finally pulls to a stop in front of a _very_ nice apartment building that Jon realizes Dany has fallen asleep. 

She looks adorable, swallowed whole in his tuxedo jacket, expression completely serene as she dozes on his shoulder. He’s not sure if it’s all the alcohol in his system or not clouding his judgement, but he’s quite sure she’s the cutest thing he’s seen in his life, including Ghost’s puppy months. 

“Dany,” he says, nudging her gently, their uber driver glancing back at them in the rearview mirror. “C’mon, love, you have to get up.” 

“Hmm?” she hums, eyes blinking open, and he smiles again, wrapping his arms around her to get her out of the car. She seems to wake back up once they’re outside, the brisk air making her shiver, even in his coat. 

“C’mon, I’ll walk you upstairs,” he says, shutting the car door. She smiles at him affectionately, and it makes his heart hum, fingers tangling with hers as she tugs him into the building. 

He’s so caught up in the feeling of having Dany wrapped up in his arms, leaning into him, drunk on both the whiskey and her perfume, that he doesn’t really notice the lobby as they walk through it, following her blindly to the elevators. She hits the button for the seventh floor, and he takes her lead once they arrive, coming to a stop at her apartment door. 

“Do you want to come in?” Dany asks him, looking up at him with big blue eyes, and Jon’s heart stops. 

It’s a terrible idea. He knows it is. He should make sure she gets inside and then go home, or his alcohol-clouded judgement is going to make him do something truly stupid. Like push Dany farther than she’s ready for, and ruin whatever this is between them. 

But there’s another part of him that knows he can’t say no to her. So he nods, her smile growing wide, and a part of him feels like this _can’t_ be a mistake. 

She puts her key into the lock, twisting the knob and swinging it open, and he follows after her, like the bloody fool he is. 

It takes a moment for his surroundings to register in his mind, the only light that coming in from the large glass windows on the other side of the flat. Her apartment is absolutely _gorgeous—_ large and spacious, decorated immaculately, all clean lines and stylish furniture that’s color coordinated. It’s like something out of a very high end magazine. 

It’s never really occurred to him before, he supposes, that Dany must make a substantial amount of money. She’s an executive, after all, and the gods know she never takes any holidays. But seeing the place where she lives is a stark reminder of it. He thinks of his own flat, probably smaller than this, with four people and a dog shoved into it, in a decidedly shittier area of the city. Suddenly, he feels out of place again, like he’s back in the gala hall. 

But then Dany takes his hand, smiling at him a little, and it all melts away. 

The moment is broken by a hissing sound, and Jon startles, looking around for the source of the noise. But Dany seems unperturbed, laughing as she bends over, almost falling down to pick up a large, clearly grumpy cat. 

“It’s okay, dearest,” she coos at the cat, and Jon can’t help but smile, even though the animal is staring at him like if given the chance, he would kill him in his sleep. “It’s just Jon.” She looks up at him, eyes wide and happy. “Jon, this is Drogon. He sort of hates other people, I’m afraid. Don’t take his distaste personally.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jon says, stepping closer anyways. Hesitantly, he holds out a hand towards the cat, who eyes it disdainfully. It’s probably unwise, and he’ll probably end up with a nasty scratch across his hand, but as he stares into the animal’s large yellow eyes, it’s like a trance comes over him, filling him with fascination. 

Drogon stills as he draws closer, moving slowly, steadily, as to not spook him. Gently, his fingers lower to the cat’s head, scratching gently behind his ears. Drogon blinks, unmoving in Dany’s arms, letting Jon pet him gently. 

And then he _purrs._

“Wow,” Dany says, looking between the two of them as Jon withdraws his hand, thinking he’s probably pushed his luck enough for tonight. Dany leans down, putting Drogon on the ground, giving Jon an eyeful of her cleavage that almost makes him groan out loud. 

“I’ve never seen Drogon let a stranger pet him like that,” Dany says, clearly impressed. “You have the magic touch, Jon Snow.” 

“I dunno about that,” he says, shrugging, but he almost jumps at the feeling of something brushing up against his leg. Looking down, he sees a different cat, this one silver and white, blinking up at him with wide green eyes as his tail flicks against his calf. 

“And that’s Rhaegal,” Dany says, smiling. “Now where’s Viserion?” At the name, another _mew_ echoes from behind her, a cream and orange tabby poking his head out from behind Dany’s skirt, peering at him curiously. 

“It’s just the three, right?” Jon asks as Dany shrugs off his tuxedo jacket, dropping it to the couch. Drogon sniffs it, then decides he’s not a fan, jumping down from the cushions gracefully and scampering down the hall. 

“Yes, just the three,” she confirms, smiling at him. “Don’t worry. I’m not _completely_ a crazy cat lady.” 

He laughs, following her down the hallway after her cat. “Ugh, I need this dress off,” she complains, stretching her hands out to the side. “The boning has been digging into my ribs for _hours.”_ She comes to a stop just inside her bedroom, back still turned to him, sweeping her hair out of the way so she can get to the back of her dress. Her fingers pull at the zipper, and Jon almost chokes when he realizes what she’s doing, his heart thundering at all the creamy skin being revealed to him inch by inch, want pulsing through him hotly. 

He’d figured when he saw the neckline she wasn’t wearing a bra, but still. Seeing actual confirmation of that is something else, his mind going blank as he stares at the arch of her spine. 

“I’m going to change,” she says, turning back to him, holding the top of the dress up. He can only nod, trying not to make a complete fool of himself as she rustles through a drawer for something, before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. 

He hadn’t come here expecting anything, obviously, even after following her into her bedroom. He’s just here to make sure she gets to bed alright, has some ibuprofen on the bedside table for the morning before she drifts off to sleep. Yes, Dany’s beautiful, and yes, he _really_ wants her, especially after seeing her in that dress all night, but he knows that’s not what’s happening. Which is beyond fine. He had meant what he said— he’ll wait for her, however long it takes. He’s all too familiar with the feeling of trying to move on from the past, and he doesn’t begrudge her any time she may need to get to that point. Especially after everything she’d said at the bar to him. 

But still. That baser, animalistic part of him just wants nothing more than to take her in his arms, fall into that ridiculously large bed with her, map her entire body with his hands first and his tongue second. 

She emerges from the bathroom a moment later with her face clean and her hair tumbling down her back. It’s still straight, and Jon misses the waves, but it shines brighter than the moonlight streaming through her window all the same. 

“Better?” he asks her, and Dany nods before she raises her hands over her head, stretching as she yawns. He realizes with a start that she’s got nothing on underneath the too-big t shirt she’s wearing besides a pair of red lacy underwear. It’s too much, all that beautiful, pale skin on display, the soft curve of her hips and the slope of her stomach, and Jon wants to snatch her up, throw her backwards onto her bed and cover her body with his, peel off the t shirt and that damned scrap of lace she somehow considers underwear, make her breathless with pleasure as he worships her body like he’s been _dreaming_ of doing all night. He can feel himself grow harder at just the thought of it, his hands mapping Dany’s body, lips tasting that soft, glorious skin— 

But then she lowers her arms, peering at him with what almost looks like a pout on her face, and the lust that had seized him fades for a moment. It doesn’t go away— it’s been brimming just under the surface all night, since the first moment he laid eyes on her at the Red Keep in that damned dress— but it calms, quiets, overwhelming affection taking its place. She looks so soft, so unburdened from work and everything else that generally weighs her down, her eyebrows scrunched up adorably. He just wants to wrap her in his arms, keep her there for as long as she’ll let him. 

“What?” she demands, crossing her arms. Jon tries _very_ hard not to notice the way it pushes her breasts up against the thin white fabric of her t shirt. 

 _Stop it,_ he reprimands himself, trying to will his brain to think about anything other than how he _needs_ to know what it feels like to hold her breasts in his hand, caress the undoubtedly perfect skin with his fingers.  He meets her eyes again, affection swelling inside him at the fiery look in her gaze, fierce and determined even behind the haze of all the whiskey they’d drinken. It’s making him think impulsively, _clearly._

“Nothin’,” he insists, shaking his head. She doesn’t look like she believes him. “It’s just you, Dany,” he admits, the alcohol making his tongue looser as well. 

He regrets it once he’s said it, fearing at once he’s crossed some line. She had been very adamant about what happened between them up North being an accident. And even if Missandei thinks differently, and Margaery as well— even though she _herself_ had practically admitted it earlier tonight, that doesn’t mean he’s going to take advantage. Even though it’s killing him, the desire to hold her and kiss her and claim her as his own nearly overwhelming, he’ll go at her pace. She’s worth the wait, he’s certain. 

But Dany doesn’t seem to be perturbed by his words; instead, she smiles at him widely, and it makes his stomach swoop just to see it. 

Jon’s trapped in the moment, unable to move, unable to _think,_ except to think about her— the joy in her eyes, the light of her smile, how completely, utterly _captivated_ he is by her, how far gone he is for this woman. She takes a step towards him, and he mirrors it with one of his own. He’s not quite sure what they’re walking towards, but somehow it just feels inevitably right. 

It might be the alcohol thinking, then again, but to Jon, it feels real. 

Dany hesitantly steps forward again, but she stumbles this time, and Jon doesn’t even think; he just reaches out and catches her. The cotton of her t shirt is soft against his fingertips as he helps straighten her up, one hand on her waist, the other bunching in her shirt at the small of her back. 

“Woah,” she says with a giggle, her smile still _so_ wide, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. _She’s_ the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“You alright?” he asks with a smile of his own, and she nods, biting at her lip. Her eyes trace up his body, and Jon can feel the heat in her gaze, pulling him in closer. One of his hands drifts up her back reflexively, resting right over her shoulder blades, his arms circling her, and she steps into him again, her chest practically pressed against his. He knows he shouldn’t, really, but the desire to hold her close just one more time is too strong. 

“Mmm,” she hums, delicately raising one hand to his face, tracing along his jawline. His eyes flutter closed, basking in her touch like he’s Ghost being scratched— if he had a tail, he’s sure it would be wagging. He moves his hand from her back, cupping her cheek reverently, weaving his fingers through her moonbeam hair. It’s so soft, even softer than he remembers it, like pure spun silk. 

Dany blinks at him, eyes wide and dark as the dusky sky, her lashes fluttering as she moves her hand behind his head, playing with the curls at the base of his neck. He relaxes into her touch, feeling more at peace than he’s felt in _years,_ even with his heart hammering in his chest. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or just _Dany_ that has such a calming effect over him, but as she draws still closer, the sweet smell of her filling his senses, he’d wager that it’s completely her. 

 _Gods,_ he wants to kiss her. As her fingers tangle in his hair, it’s all he can think about— nudging her nose with his, closing the mere inches between them and finally tasting her once again. He wants to wrap her up in him and never let her go, not until he knows what every inch of her skin feels like under his hands, what her noises of pleasure sound like, what it’s like to be buried inside her undeniable warmth. 

He looks at her, at the heat in her eyes as she pulls him closer, closer, maybe without even realizing— and he thinks that maybe, regardless of what she had said at their lunch before, she wants all that too. 

But there’s another part of him that remembers how much whiskey they had, how drunk Dany is right now. She’s probably not thinking rationally, if at all— gods know he isn’t. If he were, he wouldn’t have come inside with her, waited while she changed out of her dress. And he knows he shouldn’t kiss her, even if she looks like she wants him to. 

Jon knows he should pull away, tuck her into bed and leave her here before either of them do something foolish that will ruin everything. But he’s not a strong man, and he can’t resist her when she looks at him so sweetly, with such adoration, so he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he allows himself to bask in the warmth of having Dany pressed right up against him for as long as he can, like the stupid bloody fool that he is.

His fingers flex against her hip, her t shirt bunching to reveal soft skin, and he watches her eyes as his hand dips under the hem, splaying across her bare back. She’s like pure sunlight, pulling him in and bathing him in comforting heat, flames licking inside of him, mind blank except for thoughts of _her._ Dany sighs prettily, and he ducks his head when her fingers tug on his curls insistently, pressing his forehead to hers. 

Jon squeezes his eyes shut, trying to control his mind so he doesn’t go and do anything completely foolish. Like admit he’s probably in love with her, or something like that. 

“Your hair is so soft,” she murmurs, and Jon can’t help but grin at the adorable pout her lips curl into, distracted from his intrusive thoughts. “It’s bloody unfair, you know. I’ve been wondering what it looks like down for ages, and now that I finally know, it’s even more aggravating. Your hair shouldn’t be so pretty.” 

He laughs, quietly, and his nose nudges hers. Jon tries to quell the racing of his heart at her admission of imagining him, what his hair looks like when it’s not tied back. His thumb brushes over her cheekbone before his fingers delve deeper into her own hair, twining the strands between them, cradling the back of her head. 

“Are you jealous of my hair?” he asks, and she doesn’t need to respond, because he’s mostly joking, but she pouts anyways. “You shouldn’t be,” he whispers, eyes fluttering closed. His heart races in his chest, the smell of Dany’s perfume hanging between them. 

“Why not?” she responds, voice barely audible. But Jon’s close enough that he thinks he would be able to feel the words, even if he couldn’t hear them. 

“Because everythin’ about you is beautiful,” he says; even if he wanted to, he doesn’t think he could keep the words from spilling out, like it’s the only truth he knows. 

 _You drank way too much whiskey, you fucking idiot,_ he thinks, wondering what it is about this woman that takes away all of his self control, chips away at the ice around his heart until he thinks he could reach into his chest and pull it free with no protest, hand it over to her like it’s easy as breathing for him. 

But Dany doesn’t seem to mind. She draws closer to him, her chest flush up against his, their faces so close he’s not sure where she stops and he begins. 

“Dany,” he says, heart in his throat, unable to stop himself. He’s drunk on her, completely certain that the lusty thoughts taking hold of his mind are due to her perfume and not the whiskey shots. 

She looks up at him with those eyes, so close he can count the flecks of gold in them, and something in him just _snaps._ He knows it’s dumb, he knows he’s only considering it because he’s drunk, but he can’t fight it anymore, this electric connection between them, the want that’s been bubbling over all night, paired with the dark, lusty look in her eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks in an exhale, all pretenses gone. His nose nudges against hers, and his heart pounds as her lashes flutter, the corners of her lips ticking up in a smile. 

“I’ve been wanting you to kiss me all night.” 

That’s all it takes for him to lean in, capture her sweet lips with his again. 

 _Gods,_ he doesn’t realize just how deprived he had felt until he’s kissing Dany again, and it’s a miracle, he thinks, that he had somehow withstood and not given into this sooner. Kissing Dany is the best feeling in the world, and Jon wraps his arms around her as she rises on tiptoe to reach him easier, helping support some of her weight. 

The gentle uncertainty of their first kiss is gone— this is all heat, all passion, all pent up lust finally bubbling over after a night of heated looks and lingering touches. Dany sighs into his mouth, her teeth catching on his bottom lip, and it’s enough to make Jon’s mind go blank, his body a heated ball of _need_ as he clutches her tighter. His fingers find the hem of her shirt again, slipping up underneath to caress her soft skin, and Dany retaliates by tracing the seam of his lips with her tongue, asking him for entrance. 

He is all too happy to oblige. 

She kisses him without a single reservation, no hint of fear in the way her lips move against his, her hands dragging through his curls greedily. It’s everything, and almost too much at the same time— the feel of all her soft, warm skin underneath his palms, the scent of her perfume filling his nose, the taste of her upon his tongue as he explores her mouth. He holds her tighter, kisses her deeper, hoping desperately that some part of her realizes that _this_ is how they’re meant to be. That his heart will simply burst without her, that no matter what she’s gone through in the past, she doesn’t have to be afraid of him. Afraid of _this._

“Jon,” she whimpers into his mouth, and it goes straight to his groin, panting as they pull apart slightly, just for a moment. They should stop, he knows, as drunk as they both are. But his strength is gone— he left it at the door the moment he walked into her apartment. So he kisses her again, hands sliding down to grab her arse as she locks her arms around his neck, the two of them so close that it almost feels like they’re not separate people anymore. 

She gasps as his fingers dig into the plump flesh of her bottom, that damned scrap of lace brushing against his palms, and if he wasn’t half hard before he _certainly_ is now, hands roaming over Dany’s body like they only ever get to in his dreams. Gods, she’s so _fucking_ beautiful, like sunshine and pure light, melting away all the frozen, broken parts of himself and healing them just with one touch. He wonders if he does the same for her. Seven hells, he really hopes he does. 

His hands map Dany’s curves as he kisses her again and again, learning her taste and committing it to memory, pulling her plush bottom lip between his teeth in a way that makes her shiver in his arms. He never wants to let her go, never wants this moment to end, wants to stay here forever in this dark apartment with Daenerys Targaryen trapped up in his arms and her sweet mouth against his. 

She seems to agree, her fingers pulling at his curls before they run down his back, nails scraping lightly at the muscle there underneath his dress shirt. He groans as she kisses him deeper, dirtier, her fingers dancing over his shoulders to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, making the fabric drag against the ridge of his largest scar. 

Gods, his _scars._

“Dany,” he murmurs against her lips, trying to slow her down, even if he wants nothing but for her to keep going. But the remembrance of the marks decorating his chest is enough to shake him back to reality. They’re not doing this right now, while they’re both drunk and incapable of making smart decisions. No, when this happens, he wants to be sober enough to remember every second. And for Dany to be thinking clearly enough that she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, this is truly what she wants. 

Dany lowers back onto her feet, pulling away from him infinitesimally, seeming to sense the shift in the mood. That fragile bubble of oblivious bliss is gone, leaving them both tangled in each other’s arms, chests heaving as they take in the aftermath. 

“What?” she whispers, looking up at him with those eyes, the sudden fear in them almost making his heart stop. “I’m sorry, should I have not…” 

“No,” Jon says, a little surprised at how powerful his voice is. She blinks at him, confusion flitting across those pretty features, and he can’t stand her doubting herself, can’t stand to see her be tormented by demons of the past, so he just pulls her into his chest, hoping his arms can help erase some of the pain. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says, softer this time. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for.” He sighs, heart rate already calming a little. “I just think… now might not be the best time for that.” 

She nuzzles into his chest, humming contently as her head settles right over his heart. He prays she’s too drunk to notice the ridge of the scar right below her ear. “We did drink a lot, didn’t we?” she murmurs, and Jon chuckles. 

“Aye, we did,” he says, pulling back a little so he can see her face. “Your head’s goin’ to hurt in the morning,” he tells her, voice low as his eyes drift open. “Do you have any ibuprofen?” 

She nods, biting her lip, and her eyes are so wide, so blue, he thinks he could get lost in them forever. “In the bathroom,” she whispers, and regrettably, he slides his hand out from her hair, keeping his other hand on the small of her back and leading her over to the bed. Two of her cats are already snuggled up there, fast asleep, but the big black one, Drogon— he stares right at Jon, even as he crawls into Dany’s lap, purring as she strokes him affectionately. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and because he’s a weak, cruel man, he leans down and kisses her once more, slower and softer this time, just in case he never gets to again. 

He finds the ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet right over her sink, shaking two pills into his hand and filling a cup of water for her. “Here,” he says, sitting next to her on the bed, offering her the medicine. She downs it all in one gulp, before she sighs, leaning over so her head is against his shoulder, silver hair spilling down his back, softer than silk. 

“Thank you, Jon,” she says, voice soft with sleepiness. “You know, that’s the most fun I’ve had at a company gala in _years.”_

He chuckles, hand nudging over to take hers, tangling their fingers together. “I’m not usually one for parties, but this one wasn’t half bad,” he tells her, making her giggle. 

“Because you were there,” she says with a yawn, and his heart picks up again, growing more and more hopeful with every beat against his ribcage. “You’re entirely more than I deserve, you know that?” 

“No, Dany,” he says, voice catching. Because he’s positive it’s the other way around, really— he’d practically been a shell of a person until she’d elbowed her way into his life, turning everything upside down and making him realize he could _feel_ again. That the heart in his chest wasn’t as damaged as the skin above it may suggest. And he’d give it over to her in a second, if that was what she wanted. 

He isn’t sure what to say to that— how to convey that she’s somehow become his whole world, given him a reason to hope that he might actually be alright one day, at some distant time that he hopes desperately includes her. He’s never been very good with words, with putting sense to the tangle of emotions living inside him and making it so that people can understand what he means. But by the way Dany sighs, snuggling in closer to him, Jon thinks she may just know what he means without him having to say a word at all. 

He sits there with her just a moment longer, until her eyelids begin to droop and her breathing slows. Then he lays her back in her bed, pulling the blankets up around her. And before he can stop himself, before he can even think, he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, her hair so soft against his lips. 

“Good night, Dany,” he whispers, eyes taking in the beautiful sight of her for one last moment before he leaves the room, shutting her bedroom door and grabbing his suit jacket off her sofa so he can call another uber, this one just for himself. 

***

Walking back into his apartment feels somewhat like waking from a dream. 

His head is still spinning a little as he quietly closes the front door behind him, the low sound of the television registering only after he’s walked halfway down the hall. It’s like he’s emerging from a fog, his mind addled and jumbled from excessive alcohol consumption and _Dany._ Always Dany. 

Edd is still on the sofa, watching something on TV that Jon doesn’t really take in. Ghost is next to him, his dog’s tail thumping against the cushions at the sight of him, though he doesn’t lift his head from where it rests on his paws. 

“You’re still up?” Jon asks, pausing in the doorway. Edd gives him a look. 

“Same to you,” he says. “I figured you were stayin’ at her place, given how late it is. I was just about to give up and go to bed.” 

“No,” Jon says, though that is self explanatory, he supposes. “I took her back home, made sure she got in bed, but I didn’t stay.” 

Edd gives him half a smile. “She as drunk as you are right now?” 

“Drunker, I think,” Jon says, chuckling. “She kept pace with me with whiskey shots. And she’s tiny.” 

“Gods above, I need to meet this girl,” Edd says, tipping his head back into the cushions. “She sounds like somethin’.” 

 _She is,_ Jon thinks, mind filled only with thoughts of Dany once again. 

“You have a good time, at least?” Edd says. Jon shrugs— the party itself had been miserable at the beginning, sure, but it had been more than worth it for the aftermath. 

“Aye, I did,” he says. “The gala itself was horrid, but after Dany was done bein’ social, we all danced together, and then the two of us went to Davos’.” 

“You did?” Edd says, smirking suggestively. “And whose idea was that?” 

Jon laughs. “Hers. I went back to her place with her after, just to make sure she didn’t fall over in the elevator.” 

“Aye, you said that.” He pauses, giving Jon a look. “I know two weeks ago you were bein’ all fuckin’ glum about her rejecting you, but it sounds to me like whatever she said might not have been that true.” 

Jon nods, smiling. “I was tryin’ not to let myself hope _too_ much, but after tonight…” he shrugs. “I dunno.” 

“There’s hope for you yet,” Edd chuckles. “I’m glad for you, mate. Even if you got sent back here tonight,” he adds, raising an eyebrow at him suggestively.

Jon shakes his head— that’s not it, not at all. “No, I— I left,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s hard enough to find the words when he’s _not_ drunk off his arse. “I kissed her, and she tried to— I dunno. I didn’t want to do that to her. It wasn’t like that.” 

“Really?” Edd says skeptically. “You mean you don’t want to fuck her?” 

Jon grimaces. “No, I _do,_ but… not tonight. She needs time, still, she told me. It’s…” he sighs. “I dunno. It’s more complicated than that.” 

Edd chuckles a little bit. “Y’know, Jon, with how good looking you are, you could be a _complete_ and total wanker, and instead you’re probably the best person I know.” 

His brow furrows, mind not completely working at full speed, still fogged up with whiskey. “Why, because I’m not gonna fuck the girl I’m in love with while she’s piss drunk?” 

Edd laughs. “No, you prat. Because you understand she needs time, and you don’t mind waiting at all.” 

He frowns, sitting back into the couch cushions, reaching over to pat Ghost. But really, how could he mind waiting for Dany? The things she makes him feel— if he has to wait a little longer for her to sort out her feelings and reconcile her past, just so he gets to _be_ with her— that seems more than fair. 

It’s then that he realizes what he just said to Edd, his heart leaping in his chest. 

“I’m in love with her,” Jon says, and it’s like lightning’s struck him, the entire world coming into focus. 

“Yeah,” Edd just says, giving him a look. “Where have you been livin’ for the past few months? Under a fuckin’ rock?” 

“No, I… I love her,” he says, and he can feel the truth of his words, even as he says them again. 

“I know, Jon,” Edd says gently. “Believe me. We all know.” 

“How could you know?” he says, cross. _“I_ didn’t even know until right now.” 

Edd rolls his eyes. “Trust me. If you were one of us, watchin’ you moon over this woman, and drop everything to see her and light up when her name is mentioned, you would know too.” 

Jon blinks, considering that. But Edd just laughs, shaking his head. 

“You have to go to sleep, Jon,” he says. “You’re goin’ to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. Best you start tryin’ to sleep it off now.” 

“I guess,” he says, standing, only swaying a little on his feet. Edd chuckles at him again, Ghost jumping up as well, stretching before he trots over to Jon’s side. 

“Thanks for waitin’ up, Edd,” Jon says, patting his friend on the arm. “Really.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Edd says, nodding at him. “Now go take a shower, yeah? You smell like liquor and rich people.” 

Jon laughs at that, following his friend down the hall, praying that when he wakes up tomorrow, he still miraculously remembers every moment of this night. 

_He loves her._

He can’t stop thinking it, the words spreading such a warmth through his chest, making him feel alive and whole and wonderful. He’s in love with Dany. As he showers, gets ready for bed, curls up next to Ghost and tries to sleep, it’s the only thought that can take hold in his alcohol riddled mind. 

He’s in love with Daenerys Targaryen. 

He drifts off with a smile on his face, and even though his temples are already beginning to throb, all feels right in the world.

***

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/49072467232/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen I have no idea how tuxedo shopping works okay don't come at me


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dany,” he finally says, voice low, the only sound in the empty hall her racing pulse and the buzzing of fluorescent lights. “Are you alright?” 
> 
> She blinks, unable to look at him, her eyes trained on the linoleum tile, the plain white baseboards. “I’m fine,” she assures him, nodding slightly, but even to her the words sound false. 
> 
> He remains silent for another moment, but she can feel him watching her, trying to figure out how to help. There is no helping, that’s for damn sure. What’s gotten ahold of her now isn’t something she knows how to shut out. 
> 
> “You don’t have to tell me,” Jon finally says, words hesitant. He reaches over, taking her hand gently, gauging her reaction before twining their fingers. “But if you ever want to, I’ll listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this IS another chapter in like, less than 2 weeks! You can thank NaNoWriMo and my need to win, even if it's just against a computer 😂 A warning that the next one might not be as fast-- I have to work on my Jonerys Secret Santa present and other Christmas fics, but I promise this one will still be very much in progress! 
> 
> I can't believe this fic is almost over. It started out as this dumb idea for a one shot I had and then rapidly expanded and before I knew it it was like a hundred thousand words long and had hundreds of comments and kudos. I really appreciate all of you taking the time to read this, really. It means a lot to me that you like this world I've created enough to invest so much time in it. 
> 
> Two things-- one, we get into Dany's past in this chapter, so there are some brief, non graphic references to some things that might be triggering. Second, after some of the comments I got last chapter, I would like to ask that if you don't agree with the direction I'm taking this story, please just stop reading. I'm not going to go back and change anything because of an angry comment. If you have questions about things, sure, go ahead and ask me. But leaving nothing but negative feedback really does nothing but make me feel less motivated and shitty. 
> 
> Anyways. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/49148130568/in/dateposted-public/)

When Jon wakes up the next morning, it feels like someone’s trying to split his head open with a pickaxe. 

He groans, turning over in his bed and rolling right into Ghost. His dog whines, paws pushing against his shoulder as he raises a hand to cover his eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in around the curtains. 

_ Gods,  _ he can’t remember the last time he drank that much.

“Stop it, you bed hog,” Jon grumbles, pushing Ghost to the side, but his dog resists, still taking up more than half the room. Defeated, he slowly sits up, blinking fuzzily as his surroundings come back into focus. 

His head fucking  _ kills.  _ It feels like someone’s squeezing his brain, his stomach roiling with nausea and his temples throbbing. He squeezes his eyes closed against the bright morning sunlight, hoping that helps a little, but is met with disappointment. Reaching for the bottle of water he’d thankfully had the foresight to put on his bedside table last night, he takes a gulp, wincing as his eyes blink open again. 

Gods, it’s times like this he really wishes he could take ibuprofen. 

Ghost seems to have _ much  _ more energy than he does, standing up and nosing at his cheek, yipping excitedly at the prospect of getting breakfast, now that Jon’s up. He groans again, leaning into Ghost, resting his aching forehead against his dog’s soft fur. 

“You’re lucky you can’t drink,” he mumbles into Ghost’s neck, before ruffling his ears, slowly standing up and opening his bedroom door. 

His dog shoots out into the apartment like a bullet, the smell of bacon and eggs wafting in from the kitchen. He can hear his flatmates’ chatter as he walks down the hall, eyes still half closed, pushing his hair back from his face. 

“Ah, Sleepin’ Beauty awakens,” Pyp says, shooting Jon a cheeky grin from the table. Ghost begs at his elbow, putting on those perfect puppy dog eyes until Pyp relents and gives him a piece of bacon, chuckling as Ghost snaps it up. “You look right miserable.” 

“I feel like shit,” Jon says, taking a seat at the table. “Remind me never to do whiskey shots again. Or at least that many.” 

“Whose idea was that?” Grenn asks, taking the seat across from him, digging in to a heaping portion of eggs on his plate. 

“Dany’s,” Jon says, wincing as the sun shifts, making the room brighter. Edd appears from the kitchen next, holding two plates, one of which he offers to Jon. “Thanks, mate.” 

“So how did it go with her?” Pyp asks, giving Ghost another piece of bacon. Jon glares at his dog, because he knows what he’s doing, but Ghost just blinks back innocently. 

“Er, fine, I think,” Jon says, squinting as he tries to recall the events of last night. Everything is a little fuzzy, like he’s peering at it through frosted glass. “I’m tryin’ to remember. We went to Davos’, and that’s where we did the whiskey shots. And then I took her back to her apartment, because she was wasted, and I think I met her cat?” 

“Very romantic,” Grenn says around a mouthful of eggs. “Just to clarify here— this woman told you she doesn’t want to be with you, and then she went and left her work event early to go get drunk with you and invited you into her apartment?” 

Jon sighs, considering Grenn’s words. Yes, he supposes, they are true. He thinks back to last night, the way Dany had looked at him, touched him, danced with him and flirted with him, like she hadn’t broken his heart mere weeks ago. A part of him should be angry, probably, that she’s sent him such mixed messages. He desperately wants to believe that what everyone has told him is true, and that she truly does have feelings for him, but if she goes and denies it all again, pushes him away and pretends none of it ever happened, he’s not sure his heart will survive. Jon squeezes his eyes closed, a hazy memory drifting back to the front of his mind. 

Dany, at the bar last night. Asking him to be patient, telling him he’s a good man, and that she’s trying to get back there, after everything her ex had done to her. 

How she’s never hoped her heart still works so much as she did after getting to know him.

He should be angry that she told him she wanted to forget everything between them and then went and dropped something like  _ that  _ on him, but how can he be mad at her? He knows what it’s like to be terrified to put yourself back out there, to have faith that one day things will be okay again. That the world won’t try to take you down at every turn. And he had  _ done  _ the whole holding onto anger thing. After he’d left the Watch, he’d been so furious at everything. He had thought after Thorne and Olly and the rest of them were convicted it would fade, justice finally having been served, but it didn’t help at all. It just made him more of a shell of his old self. 

He can’t stay mad at her, he knows. How would it be productive? They still have to work together, and harboring resentment towards her because of choices she’d made out of fear will only make things worse. He believes her, what she said last night. About how she’s trying. All he can do is have hope that she figures it out. 

It’s taken Jon three years and meeting her to finally accept that maybe he really  _ can  _ be happy again. That maybe he deserves that chance. He understands that healing takes time, and he won’t begrudge her for being scared of starting a new relationship when her past one seems to weigh so heavily on her. 

It makes Jon curious, though. She’s only made very vague references to the trauma in her past, though her friends have spelled it out more clearly. He can’t help but wonder what exactly her ex did to her that’s left her so broken, made her so terrified of the prospect of anything new. 

Then he notices then that all his friends are staring at him. 

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “Ah, yes, that’s right.” 

“Fucking hell, Jon,” Grenn says. “Your patience never fails to amaze me.” 

“She told me last night she’s trying,” he says, defensiveness flaring inside of him. “She’s had a rough past with relationships, and it’s not so easy for her to trust anymore.” 

“It might also be because he finally realized he loves her,” Edd says, smiling slightly into his eggs, Grenn and Pyp both turning to stare at him. Jon can feel his cheeks flush under their gazes,  _ entirely  _ too hungover still to deal with them at the moment. 

“About fuckin’ time!” Pyp says, clapping him on the shoulder. Jon frowns at him, taking another bite of his breakfast. 

“How did you  _ all  _ know before I did?” he demands. Grenn snorts. 

“Jon, I think the only person in the  _ world  _ who still doesn’t know is Daenerys.” 

He falls silent, swallowing another bite of eggs, head reeling.  _ He’s in love with Daenerys. _ It’s different, thinking it now, when his mind isn’t hazy from the grips of alcohol. But he does— he loves her. Even if she’s given him mixed signals, even if she needs more time before she can consider having any sort of relationship with him— he knows it in his soul, that it’s true. 

_ He loves her.  _

The trance is broken by Ghost nosing at his knee, big doleful eyes turned on him as he paws at Jon’s leg, silently asking for his  _ real  _ breakfast. “Alright, boy, c’mon,” he says, standing and following after him as Ghost races to the kitchen, where he knows his food is kept. 

He readies Ghost’s meal methodically— measuring out all the supplements and vitamins he needs from muscle memory and adding them to the raw meat in Ghost’s bowl, then cracking an egg over it for a treat. He mixes it together, Ghost practically vibrating with excitement, sitting still in place as Jon takes the bowl off the counter, anticipating his upcoming command. 

“Alright, free,” Jon tells him as he puts the bowl down on his mat and steps away from it. Ghost gobbles it up like lightning, Jon taking a moment to prepare himself a cup of coffee while his dog eats. His own meds sit on the counter next to Ghost’s vitamins— ever a reminder of everything he shouldn’t have survived at the Wall. He sighs, knowing he has to take them, shaking out the correct number of pills from the different bottles and swallowing them down with a glass of water. 

Three years later, and the accident still refuses to let him forget about it  _ entirely.  _ Not that he ever really could. 

He follows Ghost back into the other room once his breakfast is gone, resuming work on his eggs, head pounding a little less now that there’s food in his system.

“Alright,” Grenn says, clearing his plate. “I assume you’re goin’ to lay in bed in the dark all day in hopes that you won’t be completely hungover by the time you have to work tonight, and since I’m goin’ for a run in a few hours, do you want me to bring Ghost with me?” 

Jon could laugh with relief. “Would you mind?” he asks. “I feel bad, not walkin’ him today, but my head feels like it’s about to explode.” 

“Not at all,” Grenn says, reaching over to scratch Ghost’s head goodnaturedly. “We’ll have fun while your dad sits in bed all miserable, wishin’ he’d woken up in his girlfriend’s bed instead. Right, Ghost?” 

“Oh, fuck off, I wasn’t about to do that when we were both so drunk,” Jon says, shooting Grenn a look. Pyp laughs and Edd rolls his eyes, but Grenn seems unperturbed. 

“Didn’t stop you from kissin’ her, though, did it?” Edd asks. Jon turns towards him, eyes wide, because  _ that  _ part of the night had completely evaded his memories. 

“Did I kiss her?” he asks, bewildered. Edd shrugs. 

“That’s what you said last night.” 

And then it comes back, the memory hitting him like a freight train. The feel of Dany’s lips against his own, the way she’d kissed him without any hesitation or fear. The sensation of her body pressed right up against his, the feeling of his hands mapping her curves, grabbing her arse, holding her close. 

“Huh,” he says out loud, the only word he can manage. He tries to snap out of the trance, the sudden memory of the lace of Dany’s panties against his fingers making him half hard. 

“Alright, I’m goin’ back to the dark,” he says. “If you need me, still leave me alone.” 

“Will do,” Pyp says, snagging a piece of bacon from Jon’s plate. He doesn’t care in the slightest, though, turning and retreating to the blissful darkness of his room. 

But even as he lays back down in bed, tries to drift back off to sleep, all he can think of is the way Dany had kissed him, deep and dirty, tugging on his lips with her teeth as her nails had raked down his back. 

It might be selfish and shameless to think so, but  _ gods above,  _ Jon hopes he gets to kiss her like that again one day. Preferably one where he remembers every single  _ second.  _

***

Dany loves her cats dearly, but sometimes Drogon is just a complete pain in her  _ arse.  _

“Ugh,” she groans, burying her face in her pillow. Her stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults, flipping back and forth most unpleasantly. And her  _ head,  _ gods. Her head could actually explode, and she thinks it might be less painful. 

Whiskey shots, in retrospect, were probably a terrible idea. 

“Let me sleep, love,” she mumbles, though Drogon doesn’t seem to care. He paws at her face again, mewing petulantly, and Dany knows he won’t stop until he gets his breakfast. 

“Stop acting like you’re a starving child I haven’t fed in a week,” she groans, opening one eye to glare at her cat. He isn’t fazed in the slightest. “I feed you every single  _ day.  _ I know for a fact you are not in immediate danger of dying from famine.” 

He just mewls again. 

Rhaegal is the next to join him, sidling up to her and rubbing against the arch of her spine, purring like mad. Drogon is never afraid to make his displeasure known, while Rhaegal is much more likely to try to sweet talk his way into whatever he wants. 

“Fine, fine!” she finally relents, sitting up slowly, wincing as the light from her windows hits her face. She’s going to answer emails in the dark all day with her screen turned on the lowest brightness. Even the thought of looking at a laptop right now makes her want to vomit. 

Eating will probably make her feel better, she knows, so once the cats are fed, she toasts up some bread for herself— simple foods are certainly the way to go, with the way her stomach is turning. She always forgets she gets nauseous when she’s  _ really  _ hungover, and based on the way her head currently feels like it’s being used as an anvil, Dany’s fairly sure she’s safe in assuming they did indeed drink  _ lots  _ last night. 

She, in all honesty, can’t remember much of it. She remembers dancing with Jon, and then going to the bar with him afterwards. But after that… everything is a blank space, save a few brief glimpses of things she’s not sure are real or just a dream. 

She doesn’t even remember getting home. As she finishes off her toast, she wonders if Jon got to his home alright. She should call him, probably, just to check. 

It has nothing to do with the fact that she wants to hear his voice, she tells herself as she climbs back in bed, petting Viserion when he cuddles up next to her again. 

Jon answers after a few rings, and she has to hold back a laugh at how gruff and disgruntled his voice sounds. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she asks. It’s almost eleven in the morning; she’d figured he would be up by now. 

“No, you’re fine, Dany,” he says, and in the background, she can hear Ghost whine loudly. “My fuckin’ flatmates decided we needed to  _ clean  _ today, so Pyp is vacuuming, and Ghost hates the vacuum. He won’t stop howlin’ at it, and my head feels like it’s about to crack open.” 

“Oh no,” she says, trying not to laugh at the thought of Ghost, who must weigh over a hundred pounds and looks like a bloody  _ wolf,  _ cowering in fear because of the vacuum cleaner. “I know how you feel, sort of. Drogon is terrified of plastic bags. Though he doesn’t howl like Ghost does.” 

“Plastic bags, aye?” Jon asks. “How environmentally friendly of him.” 

At that, Dany does laugh. “I suppose my love of the environment has rubbed off on him,” she says, and Jon chuckles. It sends a shiver through her, the sound of it all low and throaty, still gruff with sleep. 

“Ssh, Ghost, it’s alright,” Jon says, voice quieter as he turns away from the phone to console his dog. “Sorry,” he says again. “How’s your head feelin’?”

“About as bad as yours, I’d imagine,” she says. “I’m never drinking whiskey ever again. Don’t ever let me decide that doing shots after drinking champagne all night is a good idea.” 

“Alright,” he says, and she can practically hear the smile on his face. “Next time, I’ll bear it in mind.” 

“So I take it you made it home okay?” Dany asks, tapping Viserion on the nose. He nips at her fingers playfully, making her smile. “I did, miraculously. I’m assuming you had some part in that?” 

He pauses, silence the only sound filtering through the phone. “Aye, I did,” he says, and there’s something in his voice she can’t quite identify. “You don’t remember?” 

She sighs. “Not much past the fourth shot or so,” she admits. “I vaguely remember— did you get that scar by your eye from an eagle?” 

He chuckles, but there’s a little warmth missing from the sound, and it makes her heart flare with worry. “I did,” he tells her. “That’s the last thing you remember?” 

“Right about,” she says. “Why, what happened after?” 

He pauses again, his hesitation making her nerves fray. “Well, you were pretty drunk, so we took an uber back to your place together, so I could make sure you got in alright. I met your cats,” he says. “The black one— Drogon, right?—  let me pet him.”

“Did he really?” she marvels, eyeing her largest and grumpiest cat as he stretches out by her feet. But then it comes back to her— the way Drogon had purred when Jon had scratched behind his ears, smiling at her as she’d held the cat in her arms. “Wait, I sort of remember it now.” 

“Do you?” he asks, but she doesn’t answer, because a hazy glimpse of a different memory has entered her mind, so foggy and distorted that she’s not sure if it's reality or a dream. But still, she gets flashes— warm hands sliding over her bare skin. Fingers curling against the lace of her panties. Lips ravenously claiming her own in a breathless kiss. 

Her heart speeds up, breathing becoming a little shallow at the ghost of a memory. Or is it a dream? She can feel Jon’s soft curls between her fingers, and she’s not sure if it’s because she had been longing to run her hands through his hair all night, or because she actually  _ had.  _

“Dany?” she hears on the line, and she blinks, jerked back to reality. 

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head at her foolishness, even if Jon can’t see her. “Yes, I do remember. I’m getting bits and pieces back.” 

“There you go,” he says, voice soft and encouraging. Her heart thunders in her chest, half of her longing to ask Jon if what she remembers is true, the other half terrified of the answer. 

If he says it is— if she really did invite him into her apartment and kiss him like  _ that—  _ how can she respond? She had tried to face her fears once already and failed. Why would she be ready to confront whatever is between her and Jon now, as opposed to then? 

So she stays silent. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, after all. 

They chat a bit more about trivial things, no more mentions of their drunken escapades from last night. And still with every word, all Dany can think of is the foggy memory of Jon’s lips upon hers, beard scraping her skin and sending shivers through her. 

“I should go,” Jon finally says, and she notices how his voice sounds regretful. “I have to get some sleep today, try to pull myself together before I have to go to work tonight.” 

“Mm, I understand that,” Dany says. “If I manage to fall back asleep for a few hours this afternoon, any emails answered afterwards will be done so with my screen brightness turned all the way down.” 

He chuckles. “Y’know, a day off once in a while wouldn’t hurt you, I don’t think,” Jon says. 

She huffs in response. “You say that without seeing my email inbox, Jon Snow,” and at those words, he truly does laugh. 

“Well, good luck with your emails, then,” Jon says. “Are we still gettin’ lunch on Tuesday?” 

“As long as you want to,” she says, hoping her words don’t sound too rushed and overly excited. 

“Aye, I do,” he confirms, and she bites back a smile. “I’ll see you at the usual place.” 

“Sounds perfect,” she says. “Goodbye, Jon.” 

“Bye, Dany,” he says, and then the line goes silent. 

Dany leans back in bed, sighing contentedly as her head hits the pillows, Viserion climbing onto her chest and tucking his head into her neck. 

Is it bad that she wants the memory of that kiss to be real, and not a dream? 

Probably, she muses, tracing Viserion’s face with her fingertip. 

And that still doesn’t erase her desire for it at all— a world where she can give herself completely to Jon Snow without any fears to hold her back. 

She sighs, leaning over to kiss Viserion on the nose, and hopes that maybe someday, she’ll figure out how to get there. 

***

Come Monday morning, Dany still feels slightly hungover, though she’s not sure if that’s because of the gala or because of the reality of going back to work. Her head had hurt far too much to really get anything productive done on Sunday, so her email inbox is packed full, with a thousand things for her to do during the day. 

She rests her forehead in her hands, exhaling slowly. Sometimes she really thinks she needs a vacation. Or a new job. 

She hasn’t forgotten what Missandei said while they were in Winterfell, that night at dinner. Asking Olenna to expand her team probably is a fair idea. It would certainly take a lot of work off her plate, and after an adjustment period, it might even make the team function better. Missandei will be phasing out from being her assistant soon, but she already does so much more than what her job description says she’s accountable for that Dany can’t imagine her promotion will affect her workload significantly. 

“Morning,” a chipper voice echoes from her doorway, and Dany looks up to see Margaery, smiling  _ far  _ too brightly for nine in the morning on a Monday. Missandei files in after her, both of them taking the seats across from Dany’s desk. 

“How do you look so fine?” Dany asks Margaery suspiciously. “Aren’t you also exhausted and still slightly hungover?” 

“Mm, no, that would appear to be just you,” Margaery says with a smile. “Speaking of, I’m going to need all the details of what  _ exactly  _ you and Jon got up to after you left the gala.” 

Dany rolls her eyes goodnaturedly. “Really?” she asks. “Is that why you both came in here?” 

“No, I have an event for the Get Out There event Wylla Manderly’s going to be spearheading that I need your help with as well,” she says. “But this was a good excuse.” 

“Come on, Daenerys,” Missandei says, just as eager. “I have been dying to know all weekend.” 

Dany laughs, shrugging at them both. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t really remember anything,” she says. It’s not  _ entirely  _ true, of course— she has those flashes of remembrance, more and more as Sunday had progressed, though she’s still not sure which ones were reality and which ones were her imagination. But she can picture the look in Jon’s eyes as he’d sat across from her at the bar. She can remember the wonder that had filled her when Drogon had let Jon pet him. And she can feel the ghost of his touch as his hands had slid over her, lips warm and pliant in a kiss that a fanciful part of herself desperately wants to be real. 

“You don’t?” Missandei says, shocked. “Gods, how much did you drink?” 

“Well, we went to a bar after we left,” Dany says. “That I remember. And we did a  _ lot  _ of whiskey shots. Everything from there on out is all fuzzy.” 

“Well that’s colossally disappointing,” Margaery says, huffing. “I was hoping we’d get lots of juicy details of how good Jon is in bed.” 

Missandei bursts into laughter, Dany’s jaw dropping. “Margaery!” she says, aghast. But her friend’s words bring all sorts of unwarranted thoughts to her mind— the feeling of Jon’s muscles rippling under her fingers, the hard planes of his body pressed up against hers. What it would feel like to be ravished by him, to have his hands map every inch of her, to have him buried inside her— 

“Oh, come on, we all saw the way you were looking at each other all night,” Margaery says with a good natured roll of her eyes. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the  _ slightest  _ if you had gone back home with him afterwards.” 

“Well, after you told him I still have feelings for him,” she fires back, raising her eyebrows. Margaery’s eyes go wide, Missandei trying not to laugh. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Margaery says. “I have no recollection of that whatsoever.” She smirks triumphantly, eyes gleaming in a suggestive way. “Anyways, clearly it worked out well for you, based on the way you were dancing with him—” 

Dany clears her throat, knowing her cheeks are probably flushed bright pink. “Alright, enough about me and my poor drunken decisions,” she says, shaking her head. “What is this about the Get Out There event you need my help with?” 

Margaery lets it go, thankfully, the three of them spending the next half hour poring over details for the new event. It will take much more planning, of course, but they have a good foundation set, and the rest of the details can be worked out later. 

“Thank you, Daenerys,” Margaery says, packing up her things. “Really. I have a call with Wylla later this afternoon; do you think we could meet again afterwards once I know what she’s willing to commit to?” 

“Of course,” she says, nodding. “When do you have time available?” 

“Hmm,” Margaery says, brow furrowing as she opens up her phone’s calendar. “Could you do noon tomorrow?” 

“Mm, she can’t,” Missandei says, Margaery’s eyebrows furrowing at the playful smirk on Missandei’s face. “Tomorrow’s Tuesday. Daenerys gets lunch with Jon on Tuesdays.” 

Margaery’s face lights up. “Is that  _ so?”  _ she asks, smiling widely, and Dany groans, burying her face in her hands. 

“It’s just lunch,” she insists, looking up at her two friends, her tone defensive. “It’s not like that.” 

Missandei just raises an eyebrow, meeting Margaery’s gaze again. “She has it blocked off as a recurring event in her calendar.” 

“Aright, enough,” Dany cuts in, shaking her head before pulling up her calendar herself. “Margaery, I have a block open at four tomorrow, does that work?” 

She checks her phone quickly before she nods. “That’s perfect, actually.” Margaery looks up to meet Dany’s eyes again, her own positively alight with mirth. “And then I get to hear all about lunch!” 

Dany narrows her eyes— two can play at that game. “Only if I get to hear all about your date with Sansa last week,” she says, Margaery’s eyes going wide.  _ Victory.  _ “I hear Missandei helped  you pull some strings and you got to go backstage at Podrick Payne’s concert?” 

“Missandei, I  _ trusted  _ you!” Margaery stage whispers, clutching her heart in fake betrayal. Missandei just laughs, shaking her head at Margaery. 

“You should know that I tell Daenerys everything by now,” she says, and Margaery giggles. 

“Fair enough. Alright, fine, I’ll spill about my date, but only if you spill about yours,” she says, gathering up her belongings and heading for the door. “And unlike you,  _ I  _ have scandalous details to share about the aftermath.” 

“Oh gods,” Dany says, Missandei dissolving into giggles. “And it’s not a date!” she calls after her, but Margaery just smirks, waggling her fingers before she disappears from the office, back down the hall. The moment she’s gone, Missandei turns on her, smirking as well. 

“Are you sure it’s not a date?” she asks, and Dany huffs. 

“I am sure,” she tells her friend. “We just get lunch. It’s hardly monumental.” 

“Mmm,” Missandei hums, but the knowing look on her face suggests she doesn’t exactly believe her. 

“So do you really not remember anything from the night of the gala?” Missandei asks, taking the seat across from Dany. She hums, considering. 

“Not really. I mean, I have bits and pieces. I know we went to the bar. I… somewhat remember him petting Drogon.” 

Missandei’s eyebrows raise. “Drogon  _ let him  _ pet him?” Dany nods, smirking with how impressed she still is. 

“But after that everything gets very fuzzy. I think he put me to bed,” Dany says, considering. “I… I don’t know. I’m not sure if I kissed him or not. I feel like I remember it, but it’s so hazy, it could have just been a dream.” 

When she looks back at her best friend, Missandei’s expression has shifted, and she studies Dany intently, making her heart plummet. “What?” she demands, probably a little too panicky. “What is it?” 

“Have you told him how you feel yet?” she asks, and Dany blinks. 

“No,” she admits. “I— Dei, you know I can’t just—” 

“I know, Daenerys,” her friend says, kind eyes full of sympathy. “But I’m going to be honest with you right now, and you probably won’t like it, but I think you have to hear it.” 

Dany’s heart speeds up, anxiety filling her up. “What do you mean?”  she asks shakily. 

“Alright,” Missandei says, reaching across the desk to take Dany’s hand, squeezing it in hers. “I know you’ve been through awful things in the past. I know you have problems letting people into your life in that way now. And I’m not saying that’s the problem,” she says, giving her a look. “You deserve to be as cautious with your heart as you feel comfortable with, but love, what you’re doing to Jon right now…” 

“What do you mean?” she says, cheeks flushing. “What am I doing to Jon?” 

Missandei pauses, considering her words. “I don’t want to say you’re leading him on, because I know you do like him,” she says. “But this thing you’re doing, where you let him in and then turn around just to push him away out of fear— that’s probably hurting him, you know.” 

Her heart drops, and suddenly she feels sick to her stomach. ‘Oh my gods,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my  _ own  _ fears, I never even—” 

“I know,” Missandei says. “I know it’s not on purpose. Because that’s a cruel thing to do to a person, and you’re not cruel, Daenerys.” She pauses. “But you need to do something about it. If you don’t want to be with him, that’s fine, but you need to start acting like his friend and not his date. Lunches every week, letting him tuck you into bed, kissing him when you’re drunk…” She shrugs. “Jon’s a wonderful man, and I like him a lot. I think he’s good for you, and I think if you could put aside your fears, you could really have something with him. But if you can’t do that… you have to tell him. You can’t give him all this false hope, just to push him away again when it becomes too scary. He deserves better than that, and you know it.” 

She does. He  _ does  _ deserve better than that, better than her. Jon deserves someone wonderful who isn’t still haunted by ghosts of the past, not sure if their heart can even work again. He deserves someone who’s honest and good to him, who doesn’t shove him out when their feelings become overwhelming and terrifying. 

Even though she knows that, it doesn’t make her want him any less. 

Dany feels like she might cry. “Missandei,” she whispers, looking up to her friend, and the other woman’s shoulders sag with sympathy. 

“Oh, love,” she says, standing and coming to the other side of the desk, wrapping her arms around her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset.” 

“No,” Dany says, shaking her head. “No, I’m glad you told me. You’re right, he deserves better than me.” 

Missandei pulls back, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not what I said, and you know it,” she replies. “I didn’t say he deserves better than  _ you,  _ I said he deserves to know the truth.” 

She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know if I can give him that,” she says, voice quiet. “I want to. I want to tell him how much I care for him. How I wish that I’d never asked him to forget what happened up North. But the thought of saying it out loud…” she trails off, looking to Missandei for help. 

“I’m so scared,” she admits finally, the words barely audible. “I know it’s silly, and irrational. But how do I know that it won’t just be the same, all over again?” 

“Not everyone’s Drogo, you know,” Missandei says, raising an eyebrow at her pointedly. “I know you’re scared. And that’s okay. Given what you’ve been through, I’d say it’s expected. But do you think Jon would do what Drogo did to you?” Dany shakes her head silently. She knows it in her soul. There’s no man more different from her ex than Jon Snow. 

“You keep pushing him away, and yet he’s still here,” Missandei says. “And he’s being patient with you, and understanding of your fears. And still he’s not trying to force you to confront them or expecting anything from you.” She chuckles. “I would make a joke about how you should probably marry him, but I won’t, because I know the thought of that much commitment will make you even more scared. But love—” Missandei takes her hands in hers, squeezing them tight. “Men like this don’t come around very often. Or  _ ever,  _ really. I know it’s scary, but if you want something between you two, you have to stop stringing him along and just  _ do  _ it already.” 

Dany exhales shakily, squeezing her eyes closed tight. It’s  _ so  _ terrifying to think about, telling Jon how she feels. Actually committing to this, having a relationship, trying to learn to love again. 

But she knows Missandei’s right. Jon deserves the truth, and an apology. He deserves to know just how happy he makes her. How when she’s not paralyzed by fear, the thought of him fills her heart with hope. 

It’s scary, of course. But thinking about it— Dany finds the thought of losing Jon altogether is even scarier.

***

In all honesty, Jon’s not sure what to expect for lunch on Tuesday. He knows Dany said she doesn’t really remember any of their endeavors after the gala, but his memories have slowly resurfaced over the past few days, making him more and more embarrassed with every new event he can recall. He wants to  _ kick  _ himself for asking her if he could kiss her— he never should have done that, never should have put her in that position, asked her to make that choice while she was so drunk. He had known she didn’t want there to be anything between them, and he had gone and pushed her anyways, because his heart refuses to let go of her. 

A part of him feels no remorse at all for his stupid drunken decisions, remembering the feeling of her soft skin beneath his palms, of her tongue in his mouth. The addictiveness of kissing her makes it very hard for him to regret his decision. But then there’s the scarier possibility— if Dany’s memories come back, what if she pushes him away again, tells him it was all a mistake once more? He doesn’t think his heart could handle it. 

_ She can’t,  _ his mind insists.  _ She wanted you to kiss her.  _ And it’s true— she had told him, hadn’t she? That she’d been waiting for him to kiss her all night? And he had been the one to pull away, to slow things down before they spiraled out of control. 

It’s so bloody  _ confusing,  _ he can’t wrap his head around it. One second she seems to want him, and then the next she’s backing away in fear, and Jon is left reeling. He knows she’s scared, and that her past still haunts her, and he doesn’t begrudge her for that. If she needs time, that’s what he’ll give her. But selfishly, he just wants  _ confirmation  _ of something. Whatever this is between them. He just wants to know for certain that he’s not the only one who feels it. 

When he reaches the café, Dany smiles at him brilliantly from the table on the patio that’s become  _ theirs,  _ and all his fear and confusion and frustration melts away. She’s  _ here,  _ isn’t she? She’s not pushing him away again. And even if she still needs time to come to terms with all this— how can he be mad about sitting and talking for an hour with the woman he’s in love with? 

The thought makes him chuckle, because he’s never been very good with words. When he was in love with Ygritte, talking was the last thing he’d wanted to do with her— and only partially because he was trying to hide his true identity from her. But he thinks he could sit here with Dany all day and talk to her and never grow tired of it. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says apologetically, taking the empty seat across from her. “Somethin’ happened to my car this morning, so I had to bring it to the shop down the street. It’s gettin’ fixed up now.” 

“Oh no,” she says, pretty brow furrowing. “Is it going to be alright?” 

“Aye, nothin’ serious,” he tells her. “Should be all set for the trip to Dorne.” 

“Two weeks, about, from when you leave, right?” she asks, and he nods. Dany smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Has Margaery completely overwhelmed you with the itinerary? She showed it to me the other day.” 

He chuckles. “It’s… certainly a lot,” he says. “Arya’s comin’ with me, though, and she assures me she knows how to do everything.” He pulls a face, remembering his sister’s words. “Although she says I’m goin’ to have to get over my desire to stay  _ behind  _ the camera, which I’m not pleased about.” 

Dany truly laughs at that. “That’s what happens when you become the spokesperson for a multi-million dollar company,” she tells him. 

“I thought Ghost was the sponsor, not me,” he grumbles. Dany looks at him, her eyes full of fondness, and it makes his heart skip a beat. 

“Only in technicality, I assure you,” she says. “Besides, if it was Ghost coming to weekly meetings with me, I think we would get  _ much  _ less done.” 

Jon chuckles. “Aye, he’d spend the entire time beggin’ for pets. He’s grown quite attached to you, you know.” 

She shrugs, her smile dazzling. “It seems only fair. Do you know how many people Drogon has let pet him, other than me?”

“I’m guessin’ from that the answer is very few,” he says, and she nods. Something in her eyes shifts, hesitation creeping into her expression, and Jon falters, taken aback. She looks like she’s about to say something important, her gaze growing serious after mention of Saturday night. 

His heart speeds up, fear beginning to take hold of him again, terrified she’ll do nothing but push him away. 

And then his phone buzzes. 

The moment is broken, Dany’s look growing subdued as her eyes flit down. Jon glares at his phone, picking it up to read the offending text message. But his frustration is forgotten as soon as he takes in the message sent to him from his brother. 

“Seven hells,” he says, eyes growing wide, and Dany looks at him, concerned. “Talisa’s just had the baby!” 

“That’s wonderful!” Dany says, her smile warm. But his heart is still racing, faced with the sudden realization that he has to get to the hospital and he  _ doesn’t have a car.  _

“My car’s not going to be done for a few hours,” he says. “Gods, it  _ had  _ to break down today of all days— an uber to the hospital’s going to cost me a bloody arm and a leg, it’s on the other side of the city—” 

“Jon, it’s alright,” Dany says, and his panicked train of thought ceases as he meets her eyes. “Do you want me to drive you?” 

_ Yes,  _ his heart says immediately, because he’s a stupid lovesick fool who wants to spend as much time with her as physically possible. “Oh, no, Dany, I don’t want to make you do that,” he says instead. “You have work, I know, and it’s a far drive—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, voice filled with determination, and it makes him smile, thinking back to the first time he’d met her. How she’d sounded just like that as she told him all the reasons he should be an ambassador for her brand, her tone of voice conveying that she would not take no for an answer without a fight. 

“Are you sure?” he asks helplessly. “I don’t—” 

“Stop it, I’m sure,” she says with a definitive nod. “I don’t have any meetings until 3, and I got a good head start on my work this morning; I came in early. Go get our lunches to go, and I’ll be back with my car.” 

“Alright,” he says reluctantly. He still feels strange, making her drive him all the way across the city. “If you don’t mind.” 

“Not in the slightest,” she assures him. “I’ll be right back.” 

They eat their lunches on the drive to the hospital, Dany weaving through the lunchtime rush traffic like an expert. They arrive at the hospital nearly thirty minutes later, Jon’s heart beating fast in anticipation. His phone has been blowing up with texts from his siblings since they left the café, all of them nagging him to hurry up and get there. It feels like an eternity later when Dany finally pulls into a spot in the visitor parking of the hospital. 

“Thank you, Dany,” he says, fumbling with his seatbelt. He looks up at her, her sweet smile, the soft look in her eyes. And then— “Er, do you want to come in with me?” 

He’s not quite sure why he says it— maybe it’s just how frazzled he feels, or guilt that he made her drive so far. But her eyes widen, blinking at him owlishly. 

“Oh, no, I don’t want to impose,” she says. “It’s your family, I couldn’t—” 

Jon’s not sure what comes over him. Maybe he’s just a bloody lovestruck idiot, but at those words—  _ she  _ feels like his family too. 

“Come in,” he says, opening the door to the car. “My siblings won’t mind, I swear it. They like you a lot; they’ve made a point to tell me on  _ multiple  _ occasions.” 

“Really?” she says, brows tilting up, and it makes his heart break, the hope in her eyes at the thought of being included in his family. He remembers what she told him in the Godswood at Winterfell, about her parents and her brothers— and that makes his mind up for him. 

“Aye,” he says. “Come in with me.” 

“Alright,” she says, voice quiet, but she turns off the car, grabbing her purse and following him into the hospital. 

His sisters are huddled outside the hospital room that a nurse leads them to, chattering to each other as they wait. “Jon!” Sansa says when she catches sight of him. “And Daenerys, too! It’s so good to see you!” 

“Good to see you as well, Sansa,” Dany says, startling a little when his sister pulls her into a brief hug. 

“I needed a ride, and Dany offered,” he says to Arya, who gives the two of them a curious glance. “We were gettin’ lunch when Robb texted.” 

“You really are his knight in shining armor, aren’t you, Daenerys?” Arya says, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. Jon narrows his eyes at her, about to retort, but then the door to the room opens, Robb coming out into the hallway. 

“How is Talisa?” Sansa immediately says, but their brother’s smile is wide, eyes a little glassy with unshed tears. 

“She’s good,” he says. “They’re both good.” Robb seems completely unfazed by Daenerys’s presence, pushing the door open wider. “You lot want to meet your nephew?” 

“What kind of question is that?” Arya grumbles, practically pushing Robb into the room, the rest of them following behind.

Talisa lays in a hospital bed in the small room, looking exhausted but beyond happy, her smile radiant. Next to her bed is a bassinet, but the bundle of blankets in her arms is enough to tell Jon the crib is empty. 

His breath catches as a little fist comes up past the edge of the blanket, a quiet whine sounding from the baby in his goodsister’s arms. It’s such a strange thought— he’s known Talisa and Robb were having a baby for months, has seen her grow bigger and bigger with their child, but… she’s holding a living breathing  _ thing  _ in her arms, and it feels so much more real all of a sudden. 

Dany hesitates behind him, eyes following the movement of the baby in his mother’s arms, eyes going wide. “Hey, it’s alright,” he tells her, because his siblings really don’t seem to be fazed by her presence in the slightest. But she looks up at him with those big blue eyes, and there’s such  _ sorrow  _ in them that he falters. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice hushed, reaching to take one of her hands in his. He knows he’s not supposed to, probably— does hand holding go along with forgetting everything that happened between them?— but all he can think about is comforting Dany, chasing the pain from her eyes. 

She blinks, looking back at Talisa and the baby, and nods slowly. “I’m alright,” she tells him, but he’s not sure he entirely believes her. 

“Jon,” Robb says, a hand resting on his wife’s arm, nodding for him to come to his side. “Do you want to hold him?” 

Jon smiles, joining his brother next to the bed. “Of course I do,” he says, letting Robb reposition his arms, Sansa hovering at his elbow. 

“How come Jon gets to hold him first?” Sansa says petulantly, but Robb just shoves her shoulder. 

“Stop it, you’re next,” he says, placating her. 

“Here, Jon,” Talisa says, and he lowers down, letting his goodsister place his godson in his arms. 

He’s so  _ tiny,  _ Jon thinks. His breath catches as his nephew settles into his arms, mouth pursing in annoyance at being moved around. “Wow,” Jon exhales, voice a little shaky. “Talisa, Robb… he’s beautiful.” 

And he really is. His little head is covered in a soft dusting of auburn hair just like Robb’s, his brow and nose exact copies of Talisa’s. It’s incredible, staring at this tiny new person that looks so much like two people he loves dearly, knowing that this child will come to hold a spot in his heart just like his parents do. 

“So do we get to know his name now?” Arya prods, and Robb rolls his eyes at her. 

“I think so,” Talisa says, voice still a little sleepy. “Love, do you want to tell them? Since you did such a good job of  _ not  _ ruining the surprise for all those months?” 

“Your faith in me is unparalleled,” Robb says, sitting next to her on the bed, rubbing her shoulder. “His name,” he says, eyes meeting Jon’s, “Is Benson Jon Stark.” 

“Ben for short,” Talisa adds, leaning into Robb’s shoulder, and he drops a kiss on her forehead. But Jon can’t say anything, tears flooding his eyes, emotions in a knot in his chest after hearing his nephew’s middle name. 

“Truly?” he whispers, voice hoarse, and Robb nods, eyes kind. 

“Aye,” his brother says. “There’s no one else we’d rather name him for.” 

He can’t manage any other words, but he hopes that Robb can see what he wants to say in his expression. 

_ Thank you.  _

Jon looks down at the baby cradled in his arms again, a tiny fist working its way free from the blankets he’s wrapped in. “Hi Ben,” Jon murmurs, offering a finger for his godson to grasp, laughing at how he latches onto it with his little hand. He glances up at Dany, vision still blurred a little with happy tears, returning her smile with what’s probably a blinding one of his own. 

Hope grips at his heart in that moment, as he looks into Dany’s eyes. For a brief, fleeting moment, he can see his wildest dreams come true— the two of them cuddled up like Robb and Talisa are, years from now, a babe of their own cradled between their arms. It stuns him, the desperate way his heart clings to the fantasy. For so long, he’d never let himself imagine he would find happiness like that. And now, looking at Dany, he feels like it’s right within his grasp. 

“Alright,” Sansa says, practically bouncing with excitement. “My turn.” 

Robb helps transfer the baby to Sansa’s arms, chuckling at the way she coos nonsense to him, his eyes fluttering open to peer up at his aunt. He watches his sisters marvel over Benson, Talisa’s eyes sliding closed contently, Robb stroking her hair as he sits next to her. He looks over to Dany again, but he freezes as he sees the look on her face— eyes wide and overwhelmed as she stares at the baby, that panicky fear and horrible sorrow clouding her irises. Without saying anything, she turns, slipping from the room silently, closing the door behind her. 

No one else notices her leave. Jon stands frozen, not sure if she means for anyone to follow her, if she needs comfort or just wants to be alone. 

But he can’t leave her like that, not when she had looked so upset. If she tells him to leave her be, he will, but if he can ease any of her pain— 

“Arya,” he whispers, and she turns, stepping away from Sansa’s side, their sister still making faces at her nephew. “I’m going to go find Dany,” he says, and Arya’s brow furrows, eyes darting around the room and registering her absence. 

“Is she alright?” she asks, and his heart thumps at the amount of concern in his sister’s voice. 

“I’m not sure,” Jon admits. “But if she’s not—”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Arya seems to know what he means. 

“Go,” she says, nodding towards the door. “Make sure she’s okay.” 

Jon nods, turning for the door as well, slipping out into the hall silently.

He’s not sure what Dany needs, but whatever it is— he’ll try to help her, if she wants. If she lets him. 

***

It’s too much, being in that room. 

No one notices her leave— they’re all enamored with the new baby, as they should be. They’re a family, she remembers. And she’s not a part of that. She shouldn’t even be here in the first place. 

So instead Dany goes out in the hallway, sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs and counting linoleum tiles, trying to calm the panic and sorrow flooding her system. She will not break down here, now. But even as she tells herself that, memories of the past crash over her, twisting her insides in knots, bringing all the pain from what she’d lost and the fear of it all happening again right to the surface.

She feels more than hears someone take the seat next to her, the calming sense of Jon’s presence washing over her as his knee nudges hers. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there, letting her make the first move, and her heart clenches even more, tears burning her eyes as she squeezes them closed. 

She should have known, out of everyone, he would find her. 

“Dany,” he finally says, voice low, the only sound in the empty hall her racing pulse and the buzzing of fluorescent lights. “Are you alright?” 

She blinks, unable to look at him, her eyes trained on the linoleum tile, the plain white baseboards. “I’m fine,” she assures him, nodding slightly, but even to her the words sound false. 

He remains silent for another moment, but she can feel him watching her, trying to figure out how to help. There is no helping, that’s for damn sure. What’s gotten ahold of her now isn’t something she knows how to shut out. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jon finally says, words hesitant. He reaches over, taking her hand gently, gauging her reaction before twining their fingers. “But if you ever want to, I’ll listen.” 

Tears blur her vision once more, heart squeezing, because of  _ course  _ he will. Because that’s just Jon— no matter what she puts him through, or how much she pushes him away when confronted with the terrifying reality of her feelings, he always comes back. Even when he shouldn’t. Even when she doesn’t deserve his kindness. 

It’s her own damn fault, for coming to the hospital. She should have known how difficult this would be, even if she barely knows Talisa. It still drags up past memories, past  _ nightmares.  _ Everything about this does nothing but remind her of all the hell her heart has been through, reinforce the certainty that she’ll never be able to trust it again. After all, she had trusted it back then, with Drogo, and it had betrayed her. And now she’s here, crying in a hospital hallway, pinned down by memories of the past.

But then— Jon’s here. He’s here and holding her hand and offering her comfort and wants to  _ listen  _ to her, and she knows, just by the softness of his voice and the slow strokes of his thumb against the back of her hand, that he won’t judge her. That he won’t turn away if she tells him the truth. She doesn’t deserve his trust, probably, after everything she’s put him through— the back and forth, the mixed signals, the withdrawing out of fear. Gods, the  _ fear.  _ It claws at her her heart, making her veins icy and her thoughts bleak and driving any hope from her chest. It’s crippling and overwhelming, how afraid she is. Afraid to trust her heart again, give into these feelings. Afraid to come clean about everything, show Jon just how damaged she really is. Afraid to have hope that maybe everything will really be okay, because if there’s anything her past relationships have taught her, it’s that nothing will ever be okay again. 

_ Except maybe it will,  _ a small part of her mind begs. She squeezes her eyes shut again, feeling the hot tears prick behind them, wishing she was strong enough to do this. Strong enough to just  _ believe,  _ believe that maybe things could be alright. That maybe her heart is whole enough to give Jon everything he deserves. Months ago, she wouldn’t have entertained the thought for even a moment. But Jon… he makes her want to believe. He makes her want to try to be better, to let her heart heal, to learn to trust it again. 

Jon deserves someone better than she is, someone who knows that they can give him everything he’s worthy of. But despite it all, he seems to want  _ her,  _ and gods above, all she really wants is him. 

It’s terrifying, the thought of baring her soul. Of trying to learn to love again. It would be easier probably to tell him she’ll never get there, to send him away, to let her heart remain broken and dead in her chest. But in the months since she’s met Jon Snow, it has felt more and more like maybe she  _ can  _ really heal. It’ll be hard, probably. And painful and scary and so many other things that make her want to run and hide, like she’s always done when it comes to matters of the heart. 

But if she tries, then… then maybe this could work. Maybe they could  _ be  _ together, and she could be happy, and… a million other what ifs. If it was anyone else, she would probably think it’s wishful thinking, a fanciful dream that will never come true. But this is  _ Jon.  _ She cares about him  _ so much,  _ and… all she can do is try. 

He deserves that, at least. And maybe she does too. 

Dany inhales shakily, opening her eyes, turning to finally meet his. His expression is so soft, so understanding, that it almost makes her cry again. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, and he nods, without any hesitation. 

“Of course I am,” he says, and that gives her enough courage to finally push the fears down, to open her mouth, and to begin. 

“I met Drogo my first year of uni,” she says, eyes casting down again, knowing she’ll never make it through this if she has to look at Jon the entire time. But she squeezes his hand, twining her fingers tighter with his, taking comfort from the feeling of his palm against hers. 

“He was a third year. He was older, and handsome, and charming. We had a few classes together— I was on an accelerated track, so I could graduate early.” She glances over at him, heart fluttering a little at the sly smile he gives her, the certainty in his eyes. 

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” he asks, and she almost laughs. “Has there ever been a time in your life when you weren’t gettin’ ready to take over the whole world?” 

She shakes her head, shrugging. “You remember I told you about my brother Viserys,” she says, and he nods. “The two of us had just had a huge falling out. That was the last time I spoke to him, before I went off to uni. And even though he was cruel, and he frustrated me beyond belief, for a while he was the only family I had left. Cutting him from my life completely shook me, and left me vulnerable.”

Jon nods, squeezing her fingers again in comfort, edging closer to her. His woodsy clean scent fills her nose, calming her, steadying her. “It was good in the beginning, like it always is. He liked me, and I liked him. I would lie awake at night just thinking about him, spend hours smiling at my phone while we talked. I loved him, and I thought I had found someone who truly understood me. Someone who I could spend the rest of my life with.” She inhales, eyes squeezing shut again, the lines of the tiles growing blurry as her eyes cloud with unshed tears again. “I practically lived in his flat that summer between first and second year. We were inseparable. And it just… it seemed like everything was perfect.” 

_ But it wasn’t.  _ Those words hang unsaid between them, because Jon knows how this story must go, for the end result to be how she is now, broken and bleeding still. 

“My second year, things… changed. We didn’t have classes together anymore. My schoolwork got more taxing. Missandei and I had met Irri that summer, and I spent time with them as well. And Drogo… he didn’t like how I was slipping through his fingers. How suddenly, every aspect of my life wasn’t something that revolved around him.” 

She chances a glance at Jon, a little startled at the anger that she finds in his gaze. But he remains silent, letting her continue. “I see it now, looking back. I didn’t realize it then. He was becoming my brother, wanting to have control of every part of me and my life, and it frustrated him that he couldn’t. He was angry, and closed off. He always seemed short with me.” She exhales, shaking her head. “I think that relationships like that cloud all your judgement when you’re in them. Looking back, you see how awful it was, and you don’t understand how you ever put up with it in the first place. But in the moment—” She shakes her head. 

“All I knew was that it felt like he was slipping away from me. That I was losing him, and he was all I had known in my life since I had left my family behind. I was desperate for things to go back to how they had been, but I didn’t even know where to start.” She blinks again, heart clenching painfully at the knowledge of what comes next, fear still coursing through her at the thought of recounting it all. 

It’s so scary. It’s maybe the most scared she’s ever felt. 

But she looks over at Jon, at the compassion splashed across his beautiful face, and it doesn’t feel as daunting anymore. 

So she takes a deep breath, and she jumps. 

“And then I got pregnant.” 

She can feel Jon tense next to her— she can’t bring herself to look over at him for this, shutting her eyes tightly, willing herself not to cry. She’s not sure she’s  _ ever  _ told this to anyone— Missandei and Irri lived it, and Margaery doesn’t even know this part. Fear chokes her, tells her to  _ stop,  _ run away, go hide and sweep all the shattered pieces of her heart back into a dark abandoned corner, where they can’t hurt her. But then Jon takes her hand in both of his, leaning in closer to her, his warmth radiating off of him, soft strokes of his thumb against her hand giving her the courage to continue. 

“I was so terrified when I found out,” she admits. “I was barely twenty, I had a year left of school— I had things I wanted to  _ do,  _ all sorts of things I wanted to accomplish in my life still. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do any of that with a baby.” She inhales shakily, voice wavering. “But Drogo was… he was so  _ happy.  _ Like he hadn’t been in months, when I told him. And I changed my mind when I saw that. We didn’t have very much money, and we hardly had a plan, but all of a sudden things were back to  _ normal,  _ and I thought I had my life back. I thought I had the man I loved back, and that everything would be alright. I thought as long as we were together, we would figure it out, because that’s what people do when they’re meant to be.” 

She looks up at Jon, just briefly, and the sorrow in his eyes is enough to stun her. He looks like  _ he’s  _ about to cry, like there’s a knife twisting in his heart as well. 

“I miscarried right before the end of my first trimester,” she tells him, and her voice is hollow, she knows. Thinking about her son, who she never got to hold, never got to watch grow— even now, it still haunts her, the thought of her little boy who she’ll never know. Seeing Talisa and Robb with their son had done nothing but bring back that awful, awful feeling when the doctors had told her the truth. It had felt like a part of her died that day as well. 

“Gods, Dany, that’s—” Jon says, his voice strained, and she can’t help it anymore. Looking at him, at the sorrow and sympathy on his face… it makes the tears overflow, tracing down her cheeks as she begins to cry. 

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, looking helpless, like he knows the words mean nothing. But they  _ do,  _ is the thing. The amount of emotion in his eyes as they meet hers— that means everything in the world. “I’m so sorry.” 

She shakes her head a little, not sure how else to respond. It’s taken years and years to come back from that dark place that losing her baby had plunged her into. 

“The worst part,” Dany continues, looking back down, voice thick with tears, “is that a part of me felt so  _ relieved.  _ I hadn’t wanted a baby, when I found out. The first thing I had thought when I took the test and saw it was positive was, ‘how in the hells am I going to do this?’ But then when Drogo was so happy, I changed my mind. I thought maybe…” she trails off, trying to get a handle on her emotions, not completely break down. “It’s so hard to explain. Even when I found out I was pregnant, it was this abstract concept, almost. I was still in denial. And then I went to the doctor’s and I heard his heart beating inside of me and it was like the entire world shifted.” 

She swallows, trapped up in thoughts of the past, letting Jon’s hands over hers ground her, keep her here in this moment, not get lost in memories. “And then it seemed so  _ real.  _ And I loved him with every ounce of my being. How could I not?” Dany pauses. “I felt so guilty for even that little bit of relief after I found out I had lost him. Because even if I hadn’t been planning it, I know he would have been amazing. He would have been the best thing in my life. And still, I wonder what happened, if there was anything I could have done to  _ not  _ lose him—” 

“No,” Jon says, hoarse. “No, Dany, you can’t blame yourself. That’s outside your control.” 

She looks up at him, his eyes so sad, but she knows hers must be worse, red and clouded with tears. “I did, though,” she admits, barely a whisper. “Drogo did. He blamed me, said it was my fault that his son had died.” 

“Fucking… gods, no,” Jon says, his face going white. She blinks, tears sliding down her cheeks again, one of his hands coming up to catch them with his thumb. 

“And I believed him. I blamed myself for so long.” She inhales shakily. “It just got worse between us after that. He was violent, controlling, always angry. I had become a shell of who I was before— I didn’t see my other friends, I stopped hiking, my grades slipped, I barely ate.  _ ‘Why should you be alive when my son is dead?’  _ Drogo used to say. And I began to think it. I didn’t want to be alive anymore.” She pauses. 

“About halfway through the year, Missandei finally sat me down, told me I needed to leave him and get help. I don’t even remember how I finally broke up with him. I think Missandei came with me, held my hand the entire time.” She shakes her head. “After it was over, I moved in with her, and she tried to help me get better. But something like that isn’t so easy to recover from. When I was offered a job with Tyrell in King’s Landing after graduation, we both moved here, hoping it would help me start to let go of it all.” She pauses, words catching in her throat. “But some things you just can’t recover from, no matter how long it’s been.” 

Jon closes his eyes, his expression so pained that it makes  _ her  _ heart ache for him. “I know now, that it’s not my fault that I miscarried,” Dany tells him quietly. “I did everything I was supposed to do. There’s nothing that could have stopped it. But learning to let go of that guilt, while also mourning everything I’d lost with the man I loved—” she pauses, shaking her head. “It doesn't matter how awful he was, in the end. That didn’t make it better at all. He was still all I’d known for so long. My sun and stars, I used to call him.” She chances another look at Jon, his eyes molten under the fluorescent lights. “My relationship with Drogo shattered my trust, wounded my heart. But believing losing my son was my fault… that’s what broke me,” she admits. “And I know it’s not my fault now. But it doesn’t make it any easier to let people in.” Her eyes grow hot, words catching in her throat as she tries not to sob. “It’s so hard for me to trust people after that. And I’m always just so— so afraid. That my judgement will cloud and it’ll all happen again.” 

Jon remains silent for a moment, his hand still cupping her cheek, brushing tears from her face. Her eyes are squeezed closed, because she thinks seeing him look at her now would shatter any self restraint she’s been struggling to hold over her emotions. “Dany,” he whispers, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear, and it sounds like a plea. So she opens her eyes, meeting his, and that’s all it takes for her to break. 

“C’mere,” Jon says as she begins to sob, clumsily pulling her into his arms, the hard plastic armrest of the chair sticking into her ribs. She clambers over it, ending up in Jon’s lap, his strong arms encircling her, holding her against his solid chest as he murmurs sweet nothings into her hair, trying to comfort her as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. 

She still needs to apologize, to tell him how sorry she is for everything she’s done, to confess how much she cares for him, but right now, she just wants to be held. And Jon’s arms seem like the safest place in the world, the warmth of his body pressed beneath hers comforting and grounding and reassuring. Just like him. Solid and steady and  _ there,  _ always. 

He just holds her as she cries silently, hands roaming over her back, steady and soothing. Underneath her, his chest rises and falls sharply, like he too is trying not to break down completely. She’s not quite sure how much time passes— it seems like it could be an eternity, but then it also could be mere seconds. But eventually her cries fade, her arms still tight around his neck, letting his presence soothe her. 

“Y’know, I hate hospitals,” Jon finally says, and his voice is quiet, but she can feel the words reverberating in his chest, pressed beneath her ear.  “I hate the smell, and all the white, and the fluorescent lights. How it always feels like death inside the building.” He pauses. “I spent almost a month in one up North after the accident at the Wall. Anytime I’m back in one now, I feel like I’m trapped. Tied up in that bed again, with monitors and tubes hooked up to me, unable to move.” 

It's her turn to still now, shifting slightly in his arms so she can see his face. Now his eyes are squeezed closed, his beautiful features twisted in pain, and it makes her heart ache, seeing him like this. She reaches up to smooth the creases between his brows, and he exhales, relaxing at her touch.

_ I’m here,  _ she tries to say, without using any words. 

“After the laws were passed and the Free Folk came south of the wall, people in Westeros weren’t happy about it,” Jon says, and she nods a little, remembering this part of his story from that night in Tormund’s bar. “A lot of people in the Watch weren’t happy about it either. About what I’d done. Prejudice runs deep; it’s not so easy to push it all aside.” He sighs, his hand stilling on her back, the other one reaching down to take her hand in his lap, twine their fingers back together. 

“There were riots all the time. Protests, people unhappy with the decisions we’d made. For weeks on end it seemed like there was an angry mob outside the gates of Castle Black. But there was one night—” he breaks off, voice strained, full of pain. She squeezes his hand, trying to do as he had done for her, and let him know she’s here. That she’s not going anywhere. Not this time. 

“One night, the rioters got into the base. It was a disaster; we weren’t prepared for it at all. They’d gotten in through the old tunnels into the base, back from hundreds of years ago. No one even knows about them except for brothers of the Watch. And that’s when Edd and I realized—” he inhales raggedly, eyes cast down. “Our own brothers had let the rioters inside. Had armed them, and told them where to attack. Because they were mad about us lettin’ the Free Folk into our country.” 

“Jon,” she says, stunned. The thought that someone could hate a certain type of people  _ so much  _ that they would want to hurt people they worked and lived and served with— gods, it makes her want to cry. 

“In the middle of all the fightin’, one of my brothers pulled me aside, said they were flooded in the tunnels, and they needed help. And I got there, and—” His eyes squeeze closed, fingers clutching hers tightly, and it breaks her heart to see the way the pain contorts his face. He takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling against her, and she snuggles in closer to him. 

“There wasn’t anyone down there to help. Just seven of my brothers, men I’d sworn to protect and fight with, no matter what. And they told me it was  _ for the Watch  _ as they stabbed me in the chest. All seven of them.” 

Her breath catches, blood running cold. She had known Jon had some sort of accident where he was injured, but never in a million years would she have imagined it was anything like  _ that.  _ “Jon,” she repeats, and her voice sounds almost as broken as his does. It makes her so angry to think of people he should have been able to  _ trust  _ doing that to him. 

“The last one was practically in my heart. The doctors told me afterwards it was a miracle I was still alive. It tore my aorta, or somethin’— I don’t remember exactly. Sansa does; she was the one who stayed with me in the hospital the whole time.” His voice grows quieter, inhales still shaky, and he won’t meet her eyes. “Everyone said I was lucky to have made it through. But sittin’ in that hospital bed, hardly able to move, in a haze of drugs and painkillers, goin’ from surgery to surgery—” he breaks off, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t feel lucky at all. Knowing I was there because my own brothers did that to me… I felt like I’d rather be dead.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, reaching up to brush a tear from his cheek, and he sighs shakily at her touch. She knows that doesn’t make it better. There isn’t  _ anything  _ that can make it better. 

“I hope they got what they deserve,” she says, bitter anger filling her voice with venom. “I hope they’re still rotting in a cell somewhere, miserable and afraid.” 

“They are,” Jon says. “They all got life sentences.” He exhales, eyes closing, leaning into her palm. “I thought I would feel better, after they were convicted. But I just felt the same.” He pauses, looking to her, eyes meeting hers. It breaks her heart, how much sorrow and pain is in them. If she had her way, he would never hurt like this again. 

“Everyone always tells you to do the right thing, even if it's harder,” he continues. “I did what I thought was right, and I almost died because of it. How do you keep livin’ after that? Knowing there are people who would rather have you dead than alive because you tried to help?” 

“I don't know,” Dany admits. “But you did. Because you’re strong.  _ So _ strong, Jon.” 

“I wasn’t, for a while afterwards,” he says. “Those first few months, I couldn’t do anythin’ but wallow in my misery. Try to forget all the pain.” He smiles a bit, light seeping back into his eyes. “And then Sansa dragged me to the animal shelter, and put Ghost in my arms. He gave me a reason to keep livin’, afterwards.” 

She smiles softly, her heart close to bursting. “I didn’t realize that’s when you got him,” she says. He just nods. 

“Goin’ out for hikes, takin’ him all over the country— I dunno. I think it gave me hope again. After all the horror I’d seen, there was still such beauty in this shit world. Made me feel like things might be alright someday.” 

At those words, tears fill her eyes again, thinking of all the different ways she’s hurt him, just because she’s been afraid. She told him of her past, and here he still is, holding her, protecting her. She has no reason to still be scared. And yet the thought of  _ telling  _ him, telling him just how much he means to her— it paralyzes her, making her veins fill with ice, her instincts pleading for her to flee. To push it all down, to not risk her heart again. To stay by herself, because it’s safer that way. 

But it’s so much lonelier. Now that she knows what it feels like to be in Jon's arms, to be wrapped up in his warmth— she never wants to forget this feeling. And he deserves the truth from her, even if the thought of telling it to him scares her beyond belief. 

“Jon,” she says, trying to keep her vice from shaking.  _ You can do this,  _ she tries to tell herself. 

“I want to apologize,” she continues, and his brow furrows, head ducking closer to hers. 

“What for?” he asks, and he’s so confused she wants to cry. 

“For everything,” she says, heart racing. “Gods, Jon, I’m so sorry for it all. For telling you I wanted to forget everything up North, for leading you on afterwards, for sending you such mixed signals—” She inhales sharply, chest heaving with the effort it’s taking not to cry. His eyes are wide, taken aback, as she continues. “I hurt you, I’m sure. And I’m so sorry. I never wanted that to happen. I just…” she breaks off again, hot tears pricking behind her eyes, searching Jon’s expression desperately. For what, she’s not sure. 

“It’s alright, Dany,” he murmurs, his own eyes soft. She doesn’t deserve the amount of understanding in them, she knows. 

“No, it’s not,” she says, and his brow furrows as he keeps his eyes locked on hers. “I shouldn’t have done any of that. I’ve been such a  _ coward,  _ and scared to admit what this is, between us, and—” 

Her heart is racing, so fast she thinks it may break free of her chest. Fear floods every inch of her body, paralyzing and debilitating. But she has to do this. Jon is the best person she knows, and he deserves to hear this, even if it scares her beyond belief. 

“I care about you,” Dany says, sure her heart is beating far too fast to be healthy. She feels like she’s about to go into cardiac arrest. “I really care about you, Jon. I feel so strongly for you that it  _ terrifies  _ me. And I know that’s not an excuse for how I’ve acted, but—” 

“Dany,” he says, voice softer, and there’s a smile pulling at his lips, crooked and full of endearment. It makes that panic subside just a tad, warmth filling her instead. 

“Aye, it hurt— a lot— when you told me you wanted to forget it all,” he tells her, and her heart speeds back up, gripped with terror again. And guilt. Gods, she doesn’t think she’ll ever forgive herself for hurting this wonderful, wonderful man. “And I’ll admit, I was bloody confused after the gala, though I know we were both far too drunk to be makin’ any rational decisions that night,” he continues. She giggles faintly, nodding in agreement. 

“But you mean it?” he asks, all in a rush, and there’s such  _ hope  _ in his eyes, it nearly knocks her back. “You’re not going to change your mind and pull away after this again, right? Because I—” he pauses, breath catching, and her heart stops. “I don’t think I could go through that again, Dany.” 

She just nods, an aching pain in her chest, knowing how much hurt she’s caused him because of her fear. “I’m sure,” she says, words almost a whisper, and it’s terrifying, how true it is for her. She’s not sure the last time she had ever felt so  _ certain  _ about something.  “I’m not going anywhere this time, I promise. Even if I’m… beyond terrified right now. I know what I feel is real. And I mean it.” She pauses, searching his eyes. “Gods, I do.” 

He exhales, and it looks like he’s finally let go of something he’s been holding onto for a long, long time. His face relaxes, eyes so bright as they meet hers, such softness to the way his brows raise, lips parting slightly, like he’s witnessed something absolutely, incredibly wonderful. 

It’s overwhelming to think that for him,  _ she  _ might be that something. 

“I’m not sure if you can tell,” he says, lips quirking up in a teasing smile, “but I care for you very much as well.” 

She laughs, and it comes out all watery, tears finally defying her and flooding her eyes. 

“You deserve better than me,” she tells him, and his brow furrows again. “You’re the best man I know. That I’ve  _ ever  _ known.” Her words catch in her throat, more tears threatening to spill out as she chokes down a sob. “You deserve someone who knows their heart works, who can give you everything you—” 

“Stop it,” Jon says, cutting her off, raising a hand to cup her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed, hot and wet at the feeling of his thumb stroking back and forth across her cheekbone. “Dany, I don’t give a fuck what you think I deserve.” She opens her eyes, meeting his again, and they burn with a fierce determination. “I  _ want  _ you.” 

It’s enough to make her heart stop, feeling practically like it’s seconds away from bursting. It aches and thumps in her chest, alive and healing and  _ so  _ full of emotion that she’s sure, beyond a single doubt, that whatever she feels for Jon is the realest thing she’s ever felt in her life. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, the question quiet and small. He nods fervently, without a second of hesitation. 

“I’m a mess,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m still figuring out how to put my heart back together. I’m still learning how to trust it.” 

He inhales slowly, looking down at their laps. When his gaze meets hers again, head tipping up so their eyes are at the same level, his are burning, filled with a fierce intensity that makes her breathless. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, dropping his hand from her face and taking her hand in his, twisting their fingers together. But then he exhales, like he’s preparing for something monumental, and raises her hand to his heart, pressing it against his t shirt, his chest rising and falling sharply beneath her palm. 

But that’s not what makes her breath catch, tears threatening to fall once again. No, it’s the ridge she can feel against her palm, long and curved and raised. A scar. Right over his heart, which races wildly beneath her hand. 

“I know what it’s like to have to put everythin’ back together, not even sure if it’ll be the same at the end,” he says, and she looks up from where her hand rests against his chest, eyes getting trapped in his. “I don’t know if it even can be the same. I don’t think I’ll ever go back to the person I was before everythin’ happened.” 

Jon exhales shakily, taking her face in his hand, cupping it like it’s precious. Like  _ she’s  _ the most precious thing in the world. “I’m startin’ to realize that’s okay. And it’s only because of you.” 

She laughs, but her voice is so choked with tears still, it comes out sounding more like a strangled sob. “If you need time, that’s fine,” Jon says. “Take what you need. Let me know when you’re ready. But you’re wrong about what I deserve. I never thought I could be happy like this again before I met you, and you proved me wrong. So all I care about is what I  _ want.  _ And that’s you. I know it.” 

“I want you too,” she whispers, and in that moment, she knows that no matter what she has to endure to fix her heart back up, that statement will always be true. Always, always, she will want Jon. 

She leans in like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like every bit of this conversation doesn’t terrify her half to death. Jon’s heart races under her palm as she gently presses her lips to his, melting into him, her mind incapable of thinking of anything other than the feel of his mouth moving against hers, the way he holds her face in his hands like she’s the most important thing in the world to him.

And she knows, even if it’s new and scary and overwhelming, that nothing about this is wrong. 

Jon smiles when they pull apart, pressing his forehead to hers, arms still wrapped around her. She grins too, biting at her lip nervously, and Jon ducks back towards her, dropping another brief kiss on her lips. 

They don’t say anything— there’s nothing really left to say. Instead, she just draws in closer to him, resting her head in the crook of his neck, letting his heartbeat chase away all the fear still left in her. And as she closes her eyes, peace settles over them, calming and steady. 

Jon presses a kiss to her hair, and finally, Dany doesn’t feel afraid anymore. 

***

He should have suspected, when Arya showed up on his doorstep holding takeout, that something was wrong. 

“You brought me food?” he says, raising an eyebrow at her. “What do you want?” 

“Is wanting to see my favorite brother not a valid reason to stop by?” she asks, breezing into his apartment. Grenn and Pyp are on the couch, racing each other in a video game, Edd in the other room. 

“Hi, Arya,” Pyp says, glancing up from the television briefly to greet her. Jon takes the takeout bag from her, setting it down on the table. 

“Arya,” Jon says, giving her a look. Ghost ambles over, sniffing at the food Arya had brought, nuzzling into her hand for pets. 

“Alright, fine,” she relents, sighing. “It’s an apology offering.” 

Jon squints at her. “What for?” 

She makes a face. “For what I’m about to tell you.” 

His stomach drops. What bad news could she possibly come bearing that warrants dinner as an apology?

“Alright, now you’re scarin’ me,” he says. “Just out with it.” 

Arya grimaces. “I can’t come with you on your hike for Tyrell anymore.” 

His eyes go wide, stomach at his feet. “What?” he asks, aghast. “Arya, we’re supposed to leave in  _ four days  _ for Dorne!” 

“I know!” she says, brows twisting, clearly apologetic. “But Gendry and I got the move in dates for our new flat, and we  _ have  _ to sign the papers and move everything in next weekend. I can’t go hiking, I have to be in the city on Saturday.” 

“You can’t—” he starts, but she cuts him off. 

“I already begged the landlord to push it till next weekend, or let me sign the papers early,” she says. “But he wouldn’t budge. I really can’t go, Jon. I’m so sorry.” 

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “S’alright,” he says, even though this absolutely  _ sucks.  _ “It’s not your fault, I know. And I do appreciate you tryin’ to move it.” 

“I’m pissed,” she says, making a face. “I was really looking forward to it.” 

“Aye, so was I,” he says. “Now I’m going to have to figure out all this bloody social media stuff by myself.” 

Arya’s lips twist in concentration, like she’s running through a list in her head. “There’s no one else who could go with you?” she asks. Jon huffs in humorless laughter. 

“Robb’s got a two week old, so he can’t go traipsing through the Dornish mountains for a week, I’d bet,” Jon says. “Sansa has class, and even if she didn’t, she would hate doin’ a hike as intensive as that. Gendry is in the same boat as you.” He turns towards the sofa, surveying his flatmates. “Either of you want to go hikin’ for a week in Dorne?” 

“Working,” Grenn says. 

“Same here,” Pyp agrees. “Edd?” 

“Sorry, mate,” Edd says, appearing in the hallway. “But I’m not about to go bustin’ my arse to  climb the Red Mountains. And I don’t think I would be much help on the social media front either.” 

He sighs, turning back to Arya. “You’re going to have to write me  _ very  _ detailed instructions on how to do everythin’,” he says, and she nods. “That’s how you can make up for bailing on me the same week we’re supposed to leave.” 

“There’s truly no one else?” she asks. 

“I’ve already run through the entire list of people in King’s Landing I know,” Jon tells her. “Well, other than Sam, but he has a one year old, and he hates hikin’ anyways.” 

“Gods, there has to be  _ someone,”  _ Arya says, opening one of the takeout containers, handing Jon utensils. Her jaw drops then, turning to Jon with wide eyes. “Wait. What about  _ Daenerys?”  _

His heart thumps at the prospect, even if he knows it’s far fetched— Dany has far too much work, and when Margaery had said they could send someone from Tyrell, he knew she didn’t mean  _ Dany.  _ “There’s no way,” he tells his sister, taking a bite of the food, but there’s a part of him that wishes she could. Spending a week with her in the mountains, getting to see the beauty of the world  _ with  _ her— it makes hope swell in his chest, even if it’s misplaced. 

“Why not?” Arya argues. “It’s perfect, really. She’s the one who runs all your social media anyways! Then they can make sure everything you post is exactly what they want.”  She raises an eyebrow at him suggestively, smirking. “And then you also get to spend a week alone with her in the wilderness.” 

“She works, Arya, remember?” Jon says, a little more hostile than he had meant. Knowing it will never happen makes his heart sink, wishing it  _ could  _ be a possibility. 

“She came to Winterfell anyways,” Arya rebuts. 

“Aye, but she was still workin’ there,” he argues. “This isn’t the same thing, and you know it.” 

“Fine,” Arya relents, jabbing a piece of chicken with her fork. “But I still think you should ask her. What’s the worst that could happen? She could say no.” 

“Aye, and I could seem like a lovesick fool, askin’ her to skip out on her job for a week to go hiking across Dorne with me,” he retorts. 

They haven’t truly spoken about what happened between them at the hospital since then, almost two weeks ago. But there’s peace in his heart, knowing that Dany feels the same for him. That even if she needs time, she wants to be with him. For that, he’ll wait as long as she needs him to. 

“How’s that going, by the way?” Arya says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Have you admitted you’re a lovesick fool yet?” 

“Only to himself,” Pyp calls from the couch, and Jon rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his dinner. Ghost paws at his elbow, tilting his head adorably, and Jon sighs, ruffling his ears. 

“You can’t have this, boy, the sauce will make you sick,” he says. “Go bug Edd for some of his dinner.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Edd calls from the kitchen, but already Ghost has taken off down the hall towards the sound of his voice. 

“Alright, stop evading my question,” Arya says, elbowing him. “Have you told her how you feel yet?” 

Jon sighs. “Er, somewhat,” he says. “I haven’t told her I’m in  _ love  _ with her, but I feel like that’s probably a bit much for her to handle. But she knows that I have feelings for her.” 

“And how did she take it?” Arya asks, smiling like the devil. 

“Well, she told me she has feelings for me as well,” Jon says, trying and failing to keep a grin from stretching across his face. 

“There you go!” Arya says, laughing delightedly. “It’s about bloody time!” 

“Tell me about it,” Grenn grumbles from the couch. Jon flips him off, hardly bothering to look at his flatmate’s teasing expression. 

“So now what?” Arya demands. “Are you going out with her soon?”

“No, not yet.” 

Arya makes a face. “Why not?” 

Jon sighs. “She told me, Arya. Everythin’ she’s been through, all the trauma she’s still tryin’ to get past. And it’s a lot.” 

His sister scowls at him, eyes narrowing. “Jon, you prat, you  _ better  _ not say it’s too much for you to handle.” 

“No, of course not,” he says, balking at just the thought. Yes, he wonders if he’s truly the right person to help Dany heal— she’s been through so much, as has he. There must be someone out there in better shape to help her. Someone who isn’t battling demons of their own. But Dany wants  _ him,  _ and he wants her, and all he can do is try to be whatever she needs him to be. Hopefully, that will be enough.

“It’s not that at all,” Jon says, Arya relaxing. “But she still has a lot of fears, and reservations. We’re takin’ it slow. I told her to let me know when she’s ready.” 

“Alright, consider this,” Arya says, a gleam to her eyes that Jon has always thought makes her look almost like an evil mastermind. “You get her to come on this Dorne hike with you. And then you woo her with a romantic cliffside dinner date, complete with spectacular views and sunsets. And then you get married, like, immediately, because I think you two were literally made for each other.” 

“Oh, stop it,” Jon says, shoving her shoulder. She just huffs in laughter, taking another bite of dinner. “Consider  _ this.  _ You tell your new landlord to fuck off, you need to help your brother work his social media account for a week in Dorne, and  _ you  _ come with me, like you were supposed to.” 

She sighs wistfully. “I really wish I could, Jon. Truly.” 

He shrugs. “I know. I’m just teasin’.” 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” she asks, brows knitting together. 

“Aye, I’ll figure it out,” he promises. “Honestly, I think it’ll be harder telling Dany and Margaery I have to do all this by myself. I know they keep telling me I’m getting better with my account, but I know they’re sayin’ it just to make me feel better. I’m still shit at it.” 

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but…” 

Jon chuckles. “As long as Margaery doesn’t murder me, I’ll be alright,” he says. “Which is a possibility, I think. She looks like she could kill a man and not blink an eye.” 

Arya laughs at him, shaking her head pitifully. “Well, in that case, brother, all my prayers are with you.” 

***

Dany’s been dreading doing this since she walked into the office this morning. 

Margaery is going to be  _ pissed,  _ she knows. Jon’s supposed to leave for Dorne on Thursday of this week, and all of a sudden they’re looking at the prospect of him going without anyone there to supervise his social media posting. 

She cares for him deeply, and he’s come a long way. But she knows, with every fiber of her being, that if he is left to his own devices, he will fail miserably at all the tasks Margaery has outlined for him. 

“Come in, Daenerys,” Olenna says, waving her into the office before she can tap on the door. Margaery is inside as well, which makes this easier, she supposes. Two birds with one stone, all of that. 

“Hi,” she says, trying to keep her tone even and neutral. Margaery sees right through it immediately. 

“Oh no, what’s wrong?” she asks, eyes widening in fear. 

Dany grimaces. “Well, Jon called me last night to tell me that his sister won’t be able to go on the Dorne trip with him this weekend.” 

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Margaery begs. Dany shakes her head. 

“I’m sorry. I wish I was.” 

“Well, what do we do, then?” Margaery asks. “Does he know anyone else who can go?” 

“No,” Dany says. “His brother just had a baby, Sansa has class, all his friends have work. He said he’s asked everyone he can think of, but he doesn’t have anyone. He’s going to have to go alone.” 

“Listen, you know how much I like Jon, but if we send him off into Dorne for a week by himself,  _ none  _ of the things I want done on his social media are going to happen,” Margaery says. 

“I know,” Dany agrees. “But what else can we do?” 

“We could send someone from Tyrell with him,” Margaery says, shrugging. Dany makes a face. 

“You want to— at the last minute— send someone who doesn’t know him off into the mountains of Dorne with him for a week to run his social media account while on a  _ fairly  _ difficult hike?” Dany asks, skeptical. Margaery sighs, shoulders sagging. 

“I suppose when you put it that way,” she says. 

“Alright, then I think that makes our solution clear,” Olenna says, folding her hands on her desk. Both Dany and Margaery startle, having forgotten she was there, the old woman sitting silently through their conversation. She gives them both a pointed look, eyes fixing intently on Dany. “Daenerys, you’ll go.” 

She almost laughs, thinking Olenna is joking. But then both her and Margaery continue staring at her, Olenna’s expression deadset, and she realizes that they  _ mean  _ it. 

“No,” Dany says, heart racing. “No, I can’t, I have too much work—” 

“Daenerys, this is  _ such  _ an important marketing campaign,” Margaery says. “And it makes so much sense, really. You know Jon well, you know exactly what we’re looking for social media wise, you like hiking—” 

“Margaery,” she says, and there’s a sense of panic clawing at her, heart racing too fast, breathing too shallow. “I can’t.” 

The prospect of not working for a  _ week  _ is enough to make her nervous— she’d worked from Winterfell for a whole week and fallen behind terribly. But to spend so much time with Jon, just her and him… 

They haven’t spoken since she’d told him everything at the hospital, almost two weeks ago. Well, that’s not true— they’ve talked, of course, their Tuesday lunch tradition continuing. But they haven’t spoken about what she told him, or her admission of feelings. 

It feels good, to have it all out there. To know he knows exactly how she feels, exactly why she’s afraid. And he had said she can take as much time as she needs. But still,  _ knowing  _ there’s this thing between them, both of them acknowledging it… 

Now it’s up to her to make the next move. And even after coming clean, after telling Jon about everything that had ruined her heart in the past and knowing he’s still here afterwards— the thought of really doing this, really trusting her heart again, is terrifying. 

“You can, and you will,” Olenna says, nodding her head in a way that lets Dany know her decision is final. “Don’t worry about your work, dear, we will have it all covered. But Margaery is quite right. This makes the most sense.” 

“Are you sure—” Dany says halfheartedly, but Olenna fixes her with a withering look. 

“I am positive, Daenerys, and that’s my final decision,” she says. “Now I assume, dear, that you probably need to make preparations for this, no?”

She nods, heart still beating a little too fast. “Yes, of course,” Dany says. “I’ll—” 

“Any equipment you need from Tyrell, you let me know, and I will make sure it gets to you by Thursday,” Olenna says. “Now if you’ll excuse me— I have a lot I must get done this morning.” 

“Of course,” Dany says, nodding, before backing out of Olenna’s office. Her breathing is still shallow as she walks back to her own office, Missandei giving her a curious look when she finally arrives. 

“How did they take it?” her best friend asks, standing to come to her side. Dany almost laughs, thinking about telling Missandei the outcome of her brief meeting with Margaery and Olenna— never in a million years would she have dreamed their solution would be  _ this.  _

“Well,” Dany says, meeting Missandei’s curious gaze.  _ “I  _ am now supposed to accompany Jon on his hike through the Red Mountains.” 

Missandei, for her credit, doesn’t even bat an eye. She doesn’t balk at the statement, or ask Dany how she feels about that, or allow her to let her fears take hold of her drive her mad. Instead, she nods, giving Dany a hard look.

“Well, that sounds like it probably requires a lot of preparation,” Missandei says. “Shall we get started?” 

Truly, she is beyond grateful for Missandei. 

The rest of the day is a flurry of planning and preparing for her to leave on Thursday, all while juggling her usual work as well. She calls Jon at lunchtime to get a rundown of what kind of gear she’ll need, and the excitement in his voice at learning she’s coming with him is palpable even through the phone. 

“But you have so much work,” he says, and she can picture his brow furrowing in concern, making her heart thump. “Are you sure, Dany? I can manage alone, really, I wouldn’t want you to feel like you have to come if you have other things you need to do.” 

This foolish, noble man. Oh, how she cares for him. 

“I’ll be fine,” she says, though she’s not entirely convinced. “Olenna insisted, anyways.” 

“If you’re sure,” he says, and he sounds so  _ hopeful.  _ “I’m glad you’ll be comin’, then. As will Ghost, of course.” 

He goes through everything she should need, telling her what equipment Arya has that she can borrow, and helping her amass a list to request from Olenna before Thursday. They review the itinerary, what time they’ll need to leave on Thursday, all the other details, and by the time she hangs up, she feels a little more at peace with the whole thing. 

That feeling fades the closer Thursday draws. By Wednesday night she’s a ball of nerves— her out of office notice is set, her work delegated to other members of her team, but the idea of hiking alone with Jon for an entire  _ week,  _ spending so much time just the two of them— it makes her nervous beyond belief. She almost has a breakdown packing up all her clothes, calling Missandei on the verge of tears and asking her best friend to come help. 

Whether with the clothes or with her feelings, she’s not quite sure. 

By the time Missandei arrives at her apartment, Dany is completely frazzled, clothing scattered everywhere across her bed, Drogon curled up contently in her pile of new hiking socks. “Oh, Daenerys,” Missandei says, trying to fight back a smile as she takes in the state Dany’s in. “You know it’ll be okay, right? I promise I won’t let the department burn down while you’re gone.” 

“That’s not it, Dei,” she says, voice quiet. Right now, work is the  _ least  _ of her worries. But how can she possibly convey how  _ scared  _ she is of finally facing the truth between her and Jon? 

Missandei sighs, stepping closer so she can rub Dany’s arm comfortingly. “It’s spending a week alone with Jon, isn’t it?” she says, and Dany can only nod, tears pricking behind her eyes. 

She had  _ told  _ him how she felt, godsdammit! She had divulged the entire story of her past, let him in and assured him her feelings for him are just as strong as his are for her. The scary part is  _ over.  _ So why does she still feel so terrified? 

“Come on, let’s pack while we talk,” Missandei says, leaning over her bed, beginning to refold shirts. Viserion gives her the stink eye as she snatches up the pullover he’d been cuddled up on. 

“Now, you told me about the talk you two had at the hospital,” Missandei says. “And you told him how you feel, didn’t you?” 

Dany nods, sorting the pairs of leggings scattered across her bed. “I did,” she says. “And he said take the time I need, and tell him when I’m ready.” She exhales, eyes cast down. “I want to be ready, really. I like him  _ so much.  _ I want to just… give in, and  _ be  _ with him.” She looks up at her friend, Missandei’s eyes so kind, as her own blur with tears. “But I’m still so scared. I don’t know how not to be.” 

“Love,” Missandei says, running a hand over her arm. “I know it’s scary. But you cannot live the rest of your life governed by fear. You  _ cannot.  _ You’ll never be happy. And Jon makes you happy, I know he does,” she finishes, voice soft. 

He does make her happy. Happier than she’s ever been— like she was before Drogo, before she lost her family, before  _ everything.  _ He gives her hope, and strength, and a part of her heart feels like it’s being torn from her chest when she thinks about her life without Jon Snow in it. 

But still. She’s lived with demons so long that she isn’t quite sure how to banish them for good. 

“How do I know?” Dany says, eyes wide and helpless as they meet Missandei’s. “How do I know that it will all work out? That it won’t be just like last time?” 

Missandei’s shoulders sag, her expression so soft. “You don’t,” she admits. “You just have to trust that it will be different. You have to have faith in your heart.” 

“I’m not sure how to trust it anymore,” Dany says. “I trusted it when it came to Drogo, and then…” She trails off, but Missandei doesn’t have to hear the rest of the sentence to know what she means. She had lived through that, seen Dany at her worst, witnessed what being with Drogo had done to her.

“Alright,” Missandei says, stacking all her shirts together. “Then just trust in Jon. Do you think you can do that?” 

She thinks of the way he’d held her in his arms at the hospital, the way he’d believed her and told her that none of it was her fault. How he’d let her in as well, told her all about the horrors in his past, just so that she didn’t feel so alone. How he always seems to come back, even when she lets her fears make decisions for her. 

“I think so,” she whispers. Missandei smiles at her, squeezing her hand. 

“Alright. Let’s figure out what clothing you’re going to bring with you then.” 

They go through the list that Jon had helped her make, packing everything neatly into her duffel bag. “Alright,” Dany says, hands on her hips, surveying their work. “I think I’m all set.” 

“Well,” Missandei says, opening one of her dresser drawers and shuffling through the contents. 

“What are you doing?” Dany asks, as her friend gathers up clothes in her arms, walking back over and dumping the pile of fabric on the bed. Her heart stops, realizing what Missandei has brought over. 

All her lacy underwear. 

Suddenly everything between her and Jon feels very, very real. 

“Missandei,” Dany says, fixing her friend with a glare. Missandei refuses to back down, though, arching an eyebrow defiantly at her best friend. 

“Daenerys,” Missandei echoes, before her expression softens. “You can’t live the rest of your life closing down every possibility before it even happens just because of your past. You’ve spent all this time building up walls, and somehow Jon has still found his way through. I know there’s no way to be certain it’s the right choice, but you have to take that leap of faith.” Dany’s heart quickens, a lump forming in her throat. “It’s been _years,”_ Missandei continues. “You’ve got to learn to let go of all that fear. You can’t let it haunt you anymore.” She reaches over, taking Dany’s hand in hers, squeezing it. 

“I know it’s scary. But the risk might just be worth the reward. And you deserve the reward; you really do.” She smiles again, a little of the teasing glimmer returning to her eyes. “So please. Pack the pretty underwear. Just in case.” 

Dany relents, swallowing, fighting down the emotion fluttering in her stomach. She knows Missandei is right, even if the mere thought is terrifying. “Alright,” she says, and Missandei’s smile is warm as she tucks the lacy panties into her bag. 

She hardly sleeps that night, even though she knows she needs the rest for tomorrow. But Missandei’s words swirl in her head all night, keeping her awake. 

Letting go of all her fears is so much easier said than done. It’s been all she’s known for so long, the shield that’s kept her broken heart from sustaining even more damage. And to let it fall away now, to let someone in completely— 

But then, she thinks, Jon’s already managed to find his way past her defensive barriers, has snuck his way into her heart.

Squeezing her eyes closed tightly, she rolls over in bed, praying to gods she doesn’t believe in that somehow, she finds the courage to do it. To let go of all her fear and give her heart completely to Jon. Both for her, and for him.

***

It’s strange, pulling up to Dany’s apartment in broad daylight this time. 

Ghost stands up in the back as the car comes to a stop, poking his head between the two front seats. The back of the car is packed expertly, all the equipment and food and supplies neatly organized, the back seats down so that Ghost can lounge on top of it all comfortably on the ten hour drive to Dorne. 

A part of him still can’t really believe Dany is coming on this trip with him. It seems too good to be true, but also… Jon’s not sure. It feels like something monumental is sure to happen, the two of them alone in the mountains for five days. It seems like whatever fragile uncertainty is between the two of them now, this unspoken interim, will inevitably fall away with that much time spent just the two of them. What will reveal itself in its place, he can’t say. 

He hopes desperately that Dany tells him she’s ready. That she still wants this, whatever is between them. 

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he digs his phone out of his pocket, calling her to let her know he’s outside. “Hi, sorry,” Dany says, sounding flustered when she picks up the phone. “I’ll be right down, I just might have to take a few trips. I’m not sure I can manage all this at once.” 

“Do you want me to come up?” he asks. “I can help bring things down, if you’d like.” 

“Do you mind?” she says, relief evident in her voice. 

“No, not at all,” he assures her. Ghost noses at his cheek again, and his heart sinks. “Er, wait, though, I can’t leave Ghost. He’ll howl if I leave him alone in the car.” 

“Oh, it’s fine, just bring him up,” Dany says. Jon’s eyebrows raise, taken aback. 

“You sure?” 

“Of course. I don’t mind at all.” 

“Alright,” he says, ruffling Ghost’s ears. “We’ll be right up. What number is it again?” 

A minute later, Jon knocks on Dany’s door, and he can’t help but smile when she opens it, still looking flummoxed and overwhelmed. “Hi,” she says, stepping aside to let him in. Ghost’s ears perk up at her voice, and he yips excitedly, headbutting her as he tries to reach her, almost knocking her over. 

“Seven hells, Ghost, have some manners, will you?” Jon says, tugging his dog backwards by the collar. Dany just laughs, leaning over to drop a kiss on his dog’s head, ruffling his ears as well. 

“I missed you too, boy,” she assures him, smothering him with pets. Ghost’s tail wags so fast that it almost takes out Jon’s legs. 

“Alright, what do you need help with?” he asks, surveying her pile of things in the living area. “This everything you need?” 

“That’s it,” she says, standing back up, crossing her arms and nodding definitively. “The tent, my clothes, hiking equipment— you have all the food, right?” He nods. “And I have a backup generator, a hotspot in case the cell service is no good for the instagram lives, all the equipment we’ll need for the marketing as well.” 

Jon sighs. “I had forgotten about that part,” he admits, and Dany smiles. 

“Sorry, Jon, but this is a trip mandated by Margaery. Her rules, I’m afraid.” 

He’s about to respond, but behind them, he hears Ghost make a curious sound, the two of them turning back towards his dog. “Oh, gods,” Jon mutters, spotting what Ghost must have— Dany’s cats, all three of them appearing in the kitchen doorway, looking at his dog suspiciously. 

“It’s alright,” Dany says, moving closer to her pets. “Ghost is very nice, see?” She pats him on the top of his head, Ghost’s eyes sliding shut contentedly before his sights fix back on the cats. 

Rhaegal is the one brave enough to draw closer first; curiously, he steps closer to Ghost, tail swishing in the air as if he’s not quite sure what to make of him. Jon is a little nervous, to be honest— Ghost’s never really interacted with cats before— but he trusts Dany, and she seems to think the animals won’t cause each other any harm. 

Cautiously, Rhaegal prods Ghost, bumping his head against his nose, and Jon almost laughs at how shocked his dog looks. But it seems good enough for Rhaegal, because he begins purring like mad, rubbing up against Ghost’s legs before wandering over to Jon himself, peering up at him with pale green eyes. 

“You alright, Ghost?” Jon asks as he leans down to pet the cat, Rhaegal shoving his head under Jon’s hand. He chuckles as Viserion draws closer to his dog as well. He doesn’t seem as brave as his brother, pawing at Ghost curiously, and Ghost whines, laying down so he’s on the cats’ level, his head tilting as he studies them. 

Dany laughs too, the sound beautiful and exhilarating, like a fresh spring breeze after the coldest winter. “Drogon, you don’t want to say hello?” she asks. It almost looks like Drogon frowns, hissing a bit as Dany reaches over, plucking him up and pulling him into her arms. 

“Oh, I’m going to miss you, love,” she murmurs, kissing the cat right on his head, and it makes Jon smile, the way Drogon nuzzles into her. To Jon he seems grumpy and off putting, but the way he purrs as Dany squeezes him tight, it’s clear he loves his mother dearly. “Come here, all of you.” 

Rhaegal and Viserion dash over to her as well, Dany sinking to her knees so she can tell all of them goodbye. “Aunt Missandei will be here to check on you everyday,” she says, kissing each one of their heads. “I’ll be back before you know it, alright?” 

The cats all meow at her, Viserion rubbing up against her legs one last time before she turns to Jon. “Alright,” she says, nodding. “Let’s go.” 

They do manage all her things in one trip, with him helping— Jon takes the tent and most of the heavy stuff, Dany filling her arms with the rest. “Ghost, to me,” he says, his dog getting up from the floor, padding to his side. Dany locks the apartment door behind them, and they somehow still squeeze into the elevator with all her things. 

It takes a minute to properly get everything into the car, the tent going up on top with Jon’s, her bags fitting into the storage space in the back. But finally they’re packed, Ghost laying down in the back again, the two of them in the front. 

“Alright,” Jon says, hand hovering over the keys in the ignition. “You ready to go?” 

She looks over at him, her eyes blazing, and it makes his heart stutter. She nods, turning her head, her gaze fixing on the road ahead.

“I’m ready.” 

And so Jon turns on the car, and pulls out onto the open road. 

***

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/49148620561/in/dateposted-public/)


	11. Chapter 10, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jon,” she says, eyes alight with joy, and seven hells, he would do anything to make her look that happy every second of every damn day. “You’ve got chocolate on you,” she says, leaning closer, hair falling over her shoulder as she raises a hand, swipes at the side of his mouth with her thumb. His breath catches, heart pounding in his chest as she sticks the tip of her thumb in her mouth, his own going dry at the wet flash of her tongue as she licks the chocolate off, her eyes electric as they stay fixed on his.  
> Jon can’t come up with anything to say or do in response, because all of his blood has furiously rushed south. 
> 
> Dany turns back to the fire, unfazed, and skewers another marshmallow after giving Ghost a pat on the head. 
> 
> Jon exhales, trying to get a grip of himself again, but it’s very hard to do when part of his mind is fantasizing about her soft lips closing around a very different part of him. 
> 
> Gods, this is going to be a long fucking trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY YALL ITS BEEN AN AGE HUH. 
> 
> All I have to say for myself is the holidays are stressful and working full time is very hard. My goal is to have this fic done by the end of next month so hopefully this doesn't happen again, haha. I know the wait on this one was really long. I really appreciate everyone for hanging in there and encouraging me and going back and rereading and leaving me such lovely comments for a second time around. I’m working a full time job now, I have limited free time, and while I try to spend as much time writing as I can, and I feel guilty for taking so long to update this story, ultimately real life has gotta come first. So thank you again to you guys for bearing with me :) 
> 
> That being said— just wanna take a moment for a gentle reminder, not just for my fics but for ALL fics and all authors. Leaving comments that say nothing but “update please” or “is this abandoned?” do not encourage me to want to update. If you want to politely ask me how the next chapter is going and if I know when it’s being updated, I will try to answer as best I can. If you want to come back and leave me another comment telling me how excited you are for the next chapter and you hope it’s coming soon, I will LOVE to hear that. But if you do nothing but leave passively demanding comments that only say “update” on something I do for free in my VERY limited spare time, I guarantee you will succeed in nothing but pissing me off. Fanfic writers don’t get paid; we’re doing this for fun. We love sharing our work with you but we don’t owe anyone anything. Passive aggressive and guilt tripping comments like “I’m so sad this is abandoned :(“ and “come on you HAVE to update” do not encourage writers to want to write and share more, I promise you. So just… please think before you comment something like that. If you truly want to know how the next chapter of something is coming, asking me politely and treating me like I’m a real human and not a fic generating machine is all you gotta do. 
> 
> Okay putting the soapbox aside, sorry. Hope you enjoy the chapter, and I would love to know what you think! I know yall have been waiting for this for a while (and yes that IS a rating bump you see) ;)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/49495333047/in/dateposted-public/)

 

In all his years of travelling, Jon doesn’t think an eight hour car ride has ever felt so long before. 

There’s a strange sort of tension in the atmosphere, this undeniable air of _something_ significant brewing between him and Dany. They chat aimlessly on the ride to Dorne, but there’s still just… something there. He feels as if he could reach out and pluck it from the space between the front seats of the car. 

Luckily, Ghost seems unperturbed in the slightest by it. 

His dog spends the first half of the car ride napping, only waking when they reach a rest stop halfway there. Jon is relieved to climb out of the car— it’s not that things between him and Dany are _awkward,_ per se, there’s just some tectonic shift in their interaction, some acknowledgement that this trip is monumental that has them both on edge, nervous energy bubbling between them. Dany stretches like a cat when she climbs out of the passenger seat, and Jon feels his mouth go dry at the flat expanse of her stomach that the movement has revealed. 

Gods, this is going to be a _torturous_ five days. 

But when they climb back in the car, rested and refueled and ready to hit the road again, Ghost shoves his head in between the two of them, eyes trained hungrily on Dany’s bag of crisps she’d bought herself at the rest stop, and the sparkling tension between them disappears at Ghost’s antics. 

Dany busies herself with social media for the rest of the ride down— she comandeers his phone, adding her own fingerprint to the list of ones that can unlock it, and it makes Jon’s heart thump a bit, just the thought of how personal that is. She looks over at him, finding his eyes as they cruise down the empty highway, and all of a sudden that feeling is back, that big unspoken _thing_ hanging in the air between them. 

But he can’t let that rule their entire week here. They’ll both go insane if that’s the case. Yes, this feels like an enormous step forward, and yes, he’s not sure what will happen during the course of this trip, but this is _Dany._ Jon won’t have all their time spent together this week be overshadowed by this sense of uncertainty, this nervous energy while they both try to figure out their feelings. No, he wants to cherish this time spent with her. Every single second of it. 

“Dany,” he says, and she startles, looking up from her phone, meeting his eyes. “You’re not workin’, are you?” he teases, and she laughs, head tipping back. “Missandei made me promise that besides from our allotted social media content, I wouldn’t let you work.” 

“No, I’m not working,” she promises. “Just reviewing Margaery’s schedule for you again. And maybe adding a picture of Ghost to your instagram story.” She smirks at him, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, and he can’t help but smile back. 

“Arya does the same thing,” he admits. “Ghost’s poor followers would never get updates if it wasn’t for her.” 

“Well, your followers seem very excited,” she reports. “Especially for the things like the Q&A, and the giveaway.” 

 _Oh, fuck me,_ Jon thinks, trying not to sigh too dejectedly. The Q&A is maybe what he’s been dreading the most, other than the live takeover. At least he can make Dany screen the questions and refuse to answer ones he doesn’t like, he supposes.

“What is it that I’m givin’ away?” he asks, because he can’t recall if Margaery ever told him or not. “Is it anythin’ good?” 

“According to this, it’s a camping starter pack,” she says, squinting at her screen. “Tent, hiking boots, sleeping bag and mat, cooler, backpack, water bottles— it’s actually a very good prize.” 

“Good,” he says. “Hopefully whoever wins it puts it to good use. Actually gets out there and uses it.” He turns to look at her briefly, before his eyes snap back to the road. “What about you? Excited to get back to really hiking?” 

She smiles, leaning back in her seat. “Yes, I’m excited. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a real trip like this.” She chuckles, leaning in closer to him, scratching Ghost’s ears where his head rests on the center console. “I’m a bit out of practice. You might have to go easy on me.” 

At that, Jon laughs too. “Aye, I think I can do that.” 

They arrive at the main campsite at the base of the Red Mountains right as the sun is beginning to set, pulling into the almost-empty parking lot nestled between two of the larger mountains in the range. This site is a nice one— there are bathrooms with running water, designated places for campfires, bins for trash— about every amenity you could hope for in a national park. 

“I take it I shouldn’t get used to the presence of plumbing,” Dany jokes, climbing out of the car with him. Jon laughs, opening the back door so Ghost can hop out. 

“No, you shouldn’t,” he confirms. “This is the only place along the trail that has showers. We’ll stop here again before we drive home, though. Ghost is always filthy by the end of a week-long hike, and I’m not subjectin’ us to eight hours in a car with a smelly dog.” 

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she says with a laugh. Ghost, who has finished running his excited circles around the car, trots up to her, nuzzling her stomach with his head. 

“Are you hungry?” Jon asks, moving to the trunk door, opening it up to reveal all their supplies. “I know Ghost will be wantin’ dinner any minute.” 

“Sure, I’m starving,” Dany says. “What’s for dinner tonight?” She walks over to his side, peering into the back as Jon shuffles things around to get to the refrigerator, and gasps. 

“What?” Jon says, turning towards her, startled. She looks _scandalized,_ one hand over her heart, mouth wide open. 

“Jon Snow,” she says, and the facade falls away, the beginnings of a teasing smile pulling at her lips, making him relax just a bit. “You put up such a fuss about that electric campstove and you’re here with a _refrigerator_ in the back of your car?” 

“Ah,” Jon says, and he can’t help it, he grins as well. “Aye, I know, that should count as cheating,” he says. “But it’s not because of me, it’s because of him.” He nods towards Ghost, who has ambled over to the two of them, probably wondering where his dinner is. “I swear to the gods, that dog eats better than most people I know. But I have to refrigerate the raw meat for his meals, and the eggs, and I don’t like to take chances with just coolers and ice. So the fridge is mostly for him.”

“A likely excuse,” she says, eyes alight, that beautiful smile still stretching across her face. “Although I suppose if we benefit from it…” 

“It does make life easier,” he says. “Though we’re still buildin’ our own fire tonight.” 

“Good, I love campfires,” she says, a blissful smile creeping across her face. “It’s not camping if you don’t have a real fire.” 

Ghost whines, jumping up so his front paws are on the back platform of the car, sniffing at the fridge. “Alright, alright, I get it,” Jon says, gently pushing him down. “Dany, you want to start a fire for us while I feed this beast?” 

She laughs, patting Ghost’s head. “Sure thing.” 

Not long after, they have a healthy fire crackling, their chairs set up around it, and chili warming in a pot over the flames. Ghost had happily devoured his dinner in an instant, and now he sits before the campfire, attentively watching the pot as Jon and Dany set up their tents. 

“Gods, I haven’t done this in forever,” Dany says, stepping back to admire her handiwork, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. “I always forget what a pain in the arse it is to set up tents.” 

“You’ll be back in the habit by the end of the week,” Jon assures her, the two of them walking back to the campfire. Their dinner looks like it’s ready, so he pulls the pot from the fire, serving two bowls of it as Ghost watches eagerly, tail wagging. “You’ll be used to him constantly begging by then, too.” 

Dany laughs, ruffling Ghost’s ears as she takes the bowl he’s offering her, then a bite of her chili, sighing contently. “That reminds me,” she says, looking over to him. “I know the social media plan— but I’m not quite sure what the _actual_ hiking plan is while we’re here.” 

“Mm,” Jon says, taking his seat, trying the chili for himself. It’s good, he’s relieved to discover— he’d made it last night and packed it up to reheat, but he’d forgotten to try it, in the flurry of getting everything else prepared. 

“I figured tomorrow we’d start off slow,” he tells Dany. “There’s lots of different dog-friendly trails through this part of the park, so we can drive along the main trail to the different places, do a different hike each day, and see different parts of the mountains. There’s one not far from here that should only take half a day— it’ll be a good one to ease us in, I think.” 

“That’s the one for tomorrow?” she clarifies after another bite of dinner, and he nods. “That’ll be good then. Margaery wants us to do the Q&A with your followers tomorrow, so we can use the afternoon after the hike to do that.” 

Jon groans, ducking his head, and he can practically sense Dany’s smile without even looking at her. “Unfortunately you cannot shirk your social media duties,” she tells him. “I’d rather not be crucified by Margaery when we return.” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” Jon amends, and Dany laughs again, the two of them continuing their dinner. 

They finish eating in comfortable silence, Ghost still alternating his attentions between the two of them in hopes of getting _someone’s_ dinner. After they’re done, Dany helps him wash out the dishes and pack them back in the car. The sun’s set by now, a chill creeping into the air without its warmth, the sky turning an inky blue. They’ll need to get some sleep soon, especially with the beginning of their hike tomorrow, but first— there’s one camping tradition they have to uphold. 

Jon turns back to Dany, who’s sitting cross legged by the fire in her camp chair, Ghost at her feet, and holds up a bag of marshmallows. 

“How do you feel about s’mores?” he asks, and when she turns around to look at him, her smile is so wide that it makes his heart skip a beat. 

“I was about to ask if you had marshmallows,” she admits, and Jon chuckles, walking back over to the firepit with all the s’mores ingredients. “It wouldn’t truly be camping without s’mores, would it?” 

“No, it wouldn’t,” he agrees, taking a marshmallow before passing her the bag herself. Dany skewers one on a stick and holds it out over the flames eagerly, but it’s too low, and it immediately catches fire.  

“Shit,” she mumbles, pulling the charred marshmallow out of the fire, blowing on it furiously to extinguish it. Jon chuckles, unable to help it, and she turns to him, a bashful grin upon her face. 

“I always forget not to get too close to the flames,” she admits. “And then I burn my marshmallow to a crisp.” 

“Second time’s a charm, aye?” he says as she fishes another one out of the bag. “Maybe keep this one a little higher up.” 

Dany’s next marshmallow does not catch fire, and they have perfectly-roasted s'mores in no time. Somehow they always taste better when consumed under the stars, Jon thinks. Dany seems to agree, her eyes alight as she roasts another one, the light from the dancing flames making her hair appear gold. Gods above, she’s _so_ beautiful. And the way she smiles at him, jokes with him, leaning closer from her spot in front of the fire… 

He’d known this week would be hard, because _hells,_ he wants her more than anything, but Jon is determined to let her come to him. He knows how scared she was to share her past with him, and he doesn’t want to push her into anything she’s not ready for. 

“Mm,” Dany hums, licking her lips as she finishes off her s’more. He can’t help but track the movement of her tongue, memories of that night after the gala and how it had felt to _really_ kiss her flooding his mind. 

She turns towards him, and he’s grateful for the cover of darkness to hide the flush of his cheeks. “Jon,” she says, eyes alight with joy, and seven hells, he would do anything to make her look that happy every second of every damn day. “You’ve got chocolate on you,” she says, leaning closer, hair falling over her shoulder as she raises a hand, swipes at the side of his mouth with her thumb. His breath catches, heart pounding in his chest as she sticks the tip of her thumb in her mouth, his own going dry at the wet flash of her tongue as she licks the chocolate off, her eyes electric as they stay fixed on his. 

Jon can’t come up with anything to say or do in response, because all of his blood has furiously rushed south. 

Dany turns back to the fire, unfazed, and skewers another marshmallow after giving Ghost a pat on the head. 

Jon exhales, trying to get a grip of himself again, but it’s very hard to do when part of his mind is fantasizing about her soft lips closing around a _very_ different part of him. 

 _Gods,_ this is going to be a long fucking trip. 

***

It’s been a long time since Dany went camping, but she knows enough to not pass up the rare luxury of an actual shower when it presents itself. 

Granted, it’s still a camp shower. The water is lukewarm at best, and she _did_ just wash her hair yesterday, but there will likely be no opportunity to truly wash it again until they return to this site on the last day, so she braves the primitive campground bathrooms and revels in the capability of using real shampoo. 

Jon had showered too, but he’s done much before her, so when she emerges from the bathrooms, he’s back by the fire, playing with Ghost. She hangs back a moment, just watching the two of them play tug-of-war with a toy, Ghost’s tail wagging a mile a minute. 

A fondness fills her heart at the sight, watching Jon laugh as Ghost finally wins, his bark of triumph muffled by the rope in his mouth. Jon ruffles Ghost’s ears, the massive dog tackling his master, dropping the toy in his lap in favor of licking his face merrily. 

“Stop it, you slobbery beast,” Jon chuckles, but his arms link around his dog, hands carding through his thick fur. Ghost finally relents, backing up and snatching the toy from Jon’s lap, trotting merrily to the other side of the fire and laying down to chew it to his heart’s content. 

It’s then that Jon looks up, meeting her eyes from across the campfire, his smile growing softer at the sight of her. It makes her heart melt just a little, that magnetic pull that always draws her to him tugging at her, begging her to move closer. 

But there’s a part of her that’s still a little scared at this _thing_ between them, a corner of her heart still too guarded to let herself fall so quickly. So instead, she returns his smile, moving past him to put her bag back in the trunk of the car. 

She busies herself with restowing her things, trying to get her racing pulse under control. This is just the first day of this trip. She can’t afford to freak herself out now by overthinking. She’d done that before, and look how _that_ turned out. 

Jon’s bag peeks out from its place amidst the camping gear, the end pouch unzipped just a bit, and the sight of what’s inside makes her momentarily forget her fear, jaw dropping. 

“Jon!” she calls, her voice more high pitched than she’d been trying for. 

“What is it?” he asks, and he sounds worried, his footsteps drawing closer. Dany closes her fingers around the offending object in his bag, pulling it free just as he rounds the corner and comes face to face with her. 

“What,” she says, eyes still wide, “is _this?”_

Jon squints at her, adorably confused. “Er,” he says, head tilting a little to the side in a way that looks _so_ much like Ghost that she almost laughs. “My shampoo?” 

“This…” Dany looks at the bottle in her hand, then back up at him. “This is _three in one_ shampoo-conditioner-body wash,” she says, glaring at him. “You use this _garbage_ on your hair and it still looks _that_ good?” 

“Hey,” he says, cheeks reddening a little, looking mildly chastised. “That has worked just fine for me for years, you know.” 

“Unbelievable,” she says with a roll of her eyes, shoving the bottle back into his bag. But she’s mostly teasing, and when she looks back to Jon, she knows he can tell, just by the way his lips tug up, from the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

Jon leans against the side of the car, his gaze shifting down. “Did any more memories from the night of the gala come back to you?” he asks, and there’s a quiet solemnity to his voice for just a moment, like the question he’s asking is much bigger than it really is. But then he looks up at her again, and it’s gone, that teasing little smile back. “Because I dunno if you remember, but you told me you were quite jealous of my hair.” 

Dany laughs, tipping her head back, because of _course_ that’s something her drunk self had said. She can remember vividly the way her stomach had dropped when she’d first caught sight of Jon in that ballroom, in his all-black tuxedo and his curls loose around his face. 

“Did I really?” she asks, and Jon chuckles as well. 

“Aye, you did,” he says. “Though I told you you shouldn’t be, if that’s any consolation.” 

“You know, I still stand by it,” Dany says, boldness rushing through her, taking a step closer to him and reaching up to trace her fingers across his head, just brushing the curls at the base of his neck. He has them tied back now still, and _gods,_ she wants to grab that hair tie and yank it free, run her hands through his raven locks. 

“And I stand by what _I_ said,” Jon says, and his voice is lower now. He ducks his head, bringing their faces even closer together. “You have nothin’ to be jealous of.” 

“Why’s that?” she asks, her voice breathy. He exhales, a hand coming up to cup her face, fingers tangling in her own locks. 

“Because yours is… it’s like nothin’ I’ve ever seen before,” he admits. “Like moonlight, or silver, or somethin’. It’s beautiful.” He pauses, and she leans closer, their foreheads brushing. “Like you are.” 

Dany holds her breath, heart pounding, eyes sliding shut. She can feel the warmth of Jon’s breath fan against her cheeks, and deja vu hits her like a freight train, fuzzy memories of the night of the gala coming back up to the surface. And just like that night— she really, _really_ wants Jon to kiss her. 

His hand is still in her hair, playing slowly with her still damp curls, his nose nudging against hers. She feels like she’s on fire, electricity shooting through her body, making her breathing shallow and her heartbeat faster than light. 

Over and over, her heart pleads with her. _Give in, give in, give in._

But then Jon leans away, almost imperceptibly. She blinks, the horrible fear of rejection crashing over her, eyes darting up to meet his helplessly. But she doesn’t find indifference in his gaze— it’s the exact opposite. He’s looking at her with so much care and affection it could make her heart burst. 

He’s letting her make this choice, she realizes. He’s letting her decide when she’s ready. 

And as much as her body _aches_ for him, as much as she wants that moment to be right now— something tells her that this moment isn’t the right one. 

“We should probably go to bed,” Jon says, voice low. She nods, eyes casting down again, but his hand is still tangled in her hair, cradling the back of her head like she’s something precious. 

He always makes her feel that way. Like she’s worth so much more to him than she can fathom. 

“You’re right,” Dany concedes, meeting his gaze again through her lashes. “Tomorrow we start the real work.” 

“Aye,” he agrees, corners of his lips ticking up in a smile. “You have everythin’ you need, right?” 

“I think so,” she says. Her tent is already pitched, the borrowed camp air mattress and sleeping bag from Arya inside waiting for her, extra blankets, battery-powered lantern, and portable phone charger as well. 

“Alright,” Jon says, taking a slight step back. “Well, if you need anythin’, let me know.” 

“I will,” she says, the air between them still charged. His hand slips from her hair, and she mourns the loss of it immediately, the steady feel of his touch everything she needs in the world. 

They walk back to the tents together, the fire so low now that there’s nothing left but glowing embers. He lingers for a moment as she unzips her tent, his expression unreadable. For a moment time seems to freeze, the entire universe blurring out, leaving just her and Jon in this infinite moment. 

“Goodnight, Dany,” he finally says, voice low. She nods, heart still racing, so loud that she practically can’t hear his words. 

“Goodnight, Jon,” she returns, and then he nods a little, turning decisively and walking to his own tent, Ghost bounding after him. 

She doesn’t realize that she was holding her breath until she zips herself inside her own tent, shoulders sagging as she exhales. 

Dany tries to fall asleep, but she tosses and turns at first, so much that it can’t just be blamed on how different her borrowed sleeping setup is from her plush mattress at home. No, Dany’s slept in far worse conditions without any problem— the thing that refuses to let her mind rest is Jon. 

A deliriously bold part of her wonders what would happen if she went to his tent right now. If he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless and show her what it feels like to be ravaged by him. But the cautious part of her heart still cowers at the notion of giving Jon any sort of confirmation that she’s ready for this. 

She wants him— of _that_ there’s no question. But is she brave enough to tell him, to give him her heart willingly? That she’s not so sure about.

Dany sighs, turning over in her sleeping bag, the air mattress shifting below her. She closes her eyes, tries to will herself to sleep, dreams finally, _finally,_ coming to her. 

And in them, she’s not so damn _afraid_ all the time. 

***

It’s a strange feeling, waking up in a tent. 

There’s something exhilarating about it, cool morning air seeping inside, bright sunlight peeking through the nylon walls. Dany can’t remember the last time she was camping like this. Years and years ago, in uni, probably. She’d forgotten how different it was, to wake up to the smell of the earth underneath you, the call of birds right outside. To be surrounded by nature so completely. 

She can hear the crackle of the fire outside already, as well as Ghost’s eager yips, so she figures Jon must be up already. Groggily, she stretches, reaching for her sweatshirt and pulling it over her head, combing her messy hair back so that it’s somewhat presentable before she emerges from her tent. 

That is one thing she hadn’t really considered about this week. Camping is _far_ from a glamorous activity. And having the man she has feelings for see her right after she wakes up, or while she’s sweaty and smelly and hasn’t had a true shower in days isn’t exactly the ideal way to impress him. 

It doesn’t help, of course, that Jon has the nerve to look like a _supermodel_ still, even at seven in the morning and with no running water. 

“Morning,” Jon says, poking at a pan of something over the fire, Ghost’s tail beginning to wag a mile a minute at her appearance. He bounds right over to her, leaving his empty food bowl behind, and the way he barks at her gleefully makes Jon smile. 

“You sleep alright?” he asks, Dany carding her fingers through Ghost’s soft fur as the dog basks in her attention. 

“Mm,” she hums, walking over to Jon’s side, inhaling deeply. “That smells delicious.” She gives him a teasing smirk. “Is it for us, or for Ghost?” 

Jon laughs, taking the pan off the fire. “No, for us. Don’t worry, Ghost already had lamb for breakfast.” 

“Ghost gets lamb, and we’re just going to have eggs and sausage?” she says. 

“There’s peppers and onions too,” Jon amends. 

“Ah, well, in that case, I guess it’s alright.” 

“I told you he eats better than I do,” Jon says, lips curling up. “And don’t worry. His far superior breakfast doesn’t mean he won’t still beg for part of this one.” 

Ghost does indeed beg while they eat, despite Jon’s disapproving look. Dany notices that he lets Ghost lick his plate clean, though, giving him a fond pat on the head as he happily finishes off any trace of eggs and sausage left on their dishes. 

“Alright,” Jon says, taking her plate as well, retreating back to the car to wash them. “We’ll get dressed and packed up here, and then you ready to hike?” 

“No,” Dany says, arching an eyebrow at him. “You’re doing a Q&A for your followers today, remember? We have to set that up first.” 

Jon ducks his head, exhaling in defeat. “I was hopin’ you’d forget about that,” he says, meeting her eyes with a bashful smile. 

“Not a chance,” she says, grinning. “Unfortunately, I like my job too much to risk losing it by letting my social media supervision duties slide.” 

Jon makes Ghost lay down by the campfire, taking a photo of him to use as the background for the question sticker. That part Dany has to set up, because when she asks Jon to do it, all he responds with is a blank stare. 

“You’re hopeless, you know,” she grumbles goodnaturedly, taking the phone from him and finding the sticker. “There,” she says, posting the story telling his followers he’ll be answering their questions this afternoon, and to ask him anything at all about Ghost, dogs, or hiking. 

Half an hour later they’re both dressed and camp is broken down, everything packed back into the car. They drive to a new spot deeper into the mountains, Jon putting the car in park at the base of the trail they’re to hike, the sun high in the sky by the time they arrive. Dany surveys the nearly abandoned campground, only one or two other cars parked in the clearing. It’s much smaller than the main one they’d spent last night at— there’s trash receptacles, and what appears to be a water pump— but she supposes some running water is better than none at all. 

Gods, she almost misses when she and Missandei and Irri were hiking in the Red Waste, and she didn’t have to worry about whether or not she smelled because there were no handsome men she had feelings for to impress.

“You ready?” Jon asks, slinging his hiking backpack over his shoulder, Ghost already running excited circles around the two of them. Dany looks to the mountains ahead of them, the steep, rocky trail cut through the red earth. 

“I’m ready,” she tells him. “Let’s go.” 

It comes back to her, she realizes. Just like riding a bike. Ghost ambles up ahead of them, turning to check they’re still behind him frequently, the warm afternoon breeze making Dany sweat as they trek uphill, even in her t shirt. 

Jon, the bastard, has the audacity to not look winded at _all._ She tries to remind herself he does this much more often than she does, that even if she remembers everything she’d known about hiking back in university, that doesn’t mean her stamina immediately comes back as well. An  hour in and she’s exhausted, half her water already gone. 

It feels _good,_ though. Dany had forgotten how rewarding it feels to be out in nature, pushing herself farther and climbing literal mountains, even if her lungs feel like they’re about to catch fire. 

She and Jon chat as they hike, Ghost loping ahead, stopping to let them catch up every so often and drinking water from his own bottle, which has a bowl attachment on the top of it. Dany looks around again when they pause, standing in one place granting her the ability to truly take in her surroundings, the beauty of the sprawling mountain range and cloudless sky. That’s hard to do when you have to keep an eye on your footing while hiking up these steep paths. 

More time passes, the sun directly overhead now, beating down on their backs. Dany wipes sweat from her brow again, finally unable to stand it anymore, pulling off her t shirt and shoving it in her bag. The cool breeze from atop the mountains feels glorious on her heated skin, and she pauses ahead of Jon, putting her hands on her hips and taking in the view while she waits for him to catch up. 

“Be careful,” Jon warns her when he finally does, and she turns her head to look at him, brow raising. There’s a flush to his cheeks, she can see, and a rush of pleasure floods her, pleased that the bare skin of her back can elicit such a reaction from him. 

“Careful of what?” she asks, and he nods up towards the sky above. 

“That sun is strong, even if it doesn’t feel it,” he tells her. “Trust me, hikin’ with a sunburn is no fun at all.” 

She laughs, turning to face him fully, hands falling to her sides. “I lived in Essos for quite some time, Jon Snow,” she tells him. “I think I am more accustomed to the sun than you are.” 

He just grins slightly, shrugging at her as they fall back in step, Ghost running up ahead. “I didn’t know you lived in Essos,” he says, and she recognizes the glint of fond curiosity in his eyes. It’s how she looks herself every time she learns more about him.

“I studied at the University of Meereen for undergrad,” she tells him, watching his eyebrows raise, impressed. “Gods, I miss it there. Essos is so beautiful. The area around the Bay of Dragons especially.” 

“I’ve never been,” Jon says, eyes fixed on the trail, stepping up the steep slope with ease, offering her a hand to guide her. She takes it gratefully, copying his footing and trying to quell the fluttering in her chest at the feel of his calloused palm against hers. “I almost went to Braavos. Arya did a semester there, but it was right before…” he trails off, eyes cast down. “Right before the accident. I never made it out to see her, obviously.” 

It breaks her heart, hearing him refer to it as an accident. As if it’s something that happened by chance, not something that those evil men did to him on purpose. But it also makes her furious at them for trying to steal him from her life before she’d even had the chance to find him. It gives her little comfort, knowing they’re rotting in cells somewhere. If she could, she would find them all and drown them in flames. 

But then Jon looks up at her, and the softness in his eyes, the vast amount of _caring_ that he bestows upon her with just one look… that’s enough to quell her anger for now. 

“I’d love to go,” he continues, voice returning to normal, not sounding as strained anymore. “There’s so much I’d love to see there.” 

“I went to the Red Waste when I was in school, on one of our breaks,” she tells him. She closes her eyes, stopping in the path, thinking back to that time. “That’s what really got me into hiking, actually. It’s incredible, standing in the middle of all that. It makes you realize how vast the world is. How small we are in comparison.” Dany smiles wistfully, remembering the time she’d spent there. How it had felt like stepping into a completely different world. 

“What’s it like?” Jon asks, offering her a hand as support as they scale a steeper section of the path. She smiles at him cheekily. 

“Hot. And red.” 

He huffs in laughter, looking away from her with fond exasperation. “Very enlightening.” 

“Remember when I asked what the North was like, and you told me it was _big?”_ she giggles. Jon sighs in defeat, that little smile still playing at his lips. 

Gods, she really wants to lean in and press her own against his. 

“Aye, I suppose that’s fair then,” he laughs. They reach the top of the incline, but Jon doesn’t drop her hand. 

She tries not to dwell too much on how that makes her heart flutter. 

“I’d love to go back,” she says longingly, picturing the Red Waste around her, stretching endlessly. The breeze across her face is too cool, but the mountains and endless desert here almost remind her of Essos. 

“Why haven’t you, then?” Jon asks, and she blinks, turning her head to look at him. 

“What?” she asks, taken aback. 

“Why haven’t you gone back, if you want to?” he says. 

“I haven’t had time,” she says. “I have work. And Meereen is far.”

Jon makes a face at her. “You do get vacation time, don’t you?” he asks. “I’m not well versed on labor laws, but I’m fairly certain that you have to get time off for holiday.” 

Dany shrugs. “I do, but I never use it.” Jon doesn’t say anything, but she can feel his gaze on her, can hear the words he’s left unsaid. 

“My job is important, alright?” she says, a little too defensive. “My team relies on me to keep everything running smoothly, and the company relies on my team. If I don’t do my job, then how can Tyrell prosper? How can they help put money back into saving this planet?” 

“Dany,” Jon says, voice gentler, squeezing her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t tryin’ to accuse you of anything.” 

“I know,” she says, deflating a little. She knows she works too much, truly. But it’s like she said— she couldn’t go home at the end of the day and live with herself if she knew that there was more she could be doing to help. 

And for too long, work has been her only defense mechanism. It’s a habit that’s hard to unlearn. 

Jon tugs on her hand again, and suddenly they’re at the top of the hill, the view before them spectacular. Ghost circles back to them, rubbing up against Dany’s legs before plopping down at Jon’s feet. The afternoon sunlight makes the mountains look golden, the warm breeze ruffling her braid, tugging at the loose strands of her hair as she takes in the sprawling landscape of the Red Mountains. 

“It’s amazing what you do, and your job is important, I know. I just think,” Jon says, voice quiet, “it's unfair of them to expect as much of you as they do.” He pauses. “With everything you do to help this planet, you deserve to go out and see more of it.” 

She stands there quietly, watching the dappled sunlight bathe the world in gold, fingers tangled with Jon’s. Maybe he’s right. She can’t expect herself to carry her portion of the company solely by herself forever. Years ago, working constantly was a shield. But maybe now, she doesn’t need it anymore. 

Maybe now she’s ready to start living again. 

Ghost nudges at her other hand, and Dany is pulled from her thoughts, looking down at the dog fondly, scratching behind his ears. Gods, it seems like a different lifetime that she’d first seen him on her computer screen and told Missandei that this harebrained scheme of marketing to get a _dog_ as a brand ambassador was ridiculous and a waste of time. 

And look at them now— on a mountainside in Dorne in the middle of a social media takeover, all because of how much people love Ghost. 

It brings her back to a different mountainside, a different hike, back before she really knew anything about Jon Snow. Back before she had begun to realize how important he was to her. Back when she hadn't even dared to think about having feelings for the man next to her. 

And now— the way she cares for him is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. 

“What're you thinkin’ of?” Jon asks, fingers squeezing hers. She blinks, tearing her eyes away from the horizon, turning to meet his gaze. The late afternoon sunshine makes his irises look golden. 

“Nothing really,” she lies. She’s not quite sure how to disclose the monumental nature of her feelings just yet. “Just this reminds me of that day in the Kingswood. Being here, with you and Ghost.” She smiles at him, her other hand still stroking Ghost’s head. “Feels like ages ago, doesn’t it?” 

Jon chuckles, eyes drifting back to the horizon. “Aye, it does. That was one of the first times I thought you might not completely hate me.” 

Her jaw drops indignantly, hands flying to her hips. “I didn’t hate you,” she insists, but Jon just shrugs. 

“You had good reason to,” he concedes. Jon looks down, hand running over the back of his neck. “I certainly made your life much harder.” She hates the self deprecating tone of his voice. 

“You didn’t—“ she starts, but Jon gives her a look, and she can’t help but laugh. “Alright, maybe just a bit.” But she takes his hand again, squeezes it tightly, mustering her courage to get the words out. “But now, you've made it much better than I ever knew it could be.” 

His eyes find hers, blazing as they meet, something indescribable in his expression. He takes a step closer to her, and Dany’s breath quickens, watching the way his gaze darts to her lips, his free hand flexing like it’s taking all his restraint not to touch her. 

 _Do it,_ her mind pleads, desperate to feel his hand on her. His breath is ragged, forehead ducking closer to hers, the air between them practically sparkling with electricity. 

That ghost of a dream from the night of the gala comes back to her. She wants Jon to kiss her like that, and for her to _remember_ it. 

A birdcall echoes through the sprawling mountains, breaking their moment of peace, the tension between them disappearing as Jon turns, slowly, towards his dog. Ghost’s ears have perked up, every muscle in his body tense, on high alert. 

“Ghost, leave it,” Jon says, voice firm. The dog relaxes a bit, but his eyes still search intently for the source of the noise. 

“We should probably begin the hike back,” he says quietly, his voice full of regret. “So we have time for whatever thing I’m supposed to do for instagram today.” 

Dany exhales, trying not to let disappointment flood her. It makes sense, anyways. The top of a mountain while she’s sweaty and flushed is probably not the most ideal setting to jump Jon’s bones. 

They separate slowly, taking one last look at the view before beginning their descent. The entire hike back to their campsite, Dany can’t help but wonder how in the _hells_ she’s going to make it through this entire week. 

It’s late in the afternoon when they make it back to the car, the sun beginning to sink lower in the sky, making the mountains around them glow against the horizon. “Alright,” Dany says, holding her hand out for Jon’s phone, which he hands over willingly. “You go get cleaned up enough to be on camera. I’ll begin going through the questions you got this morning.” 

Jon grumbles something unintelligent, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Are you sure we have to do this?” he asks, and Dany just laughs. 

“I mean, if you want you can refuse to do any of it, but just know that you’ll have to face Margaery’s wrath once we get back to King’s Landing.” 

Jon’s face blanches at that, and he turns towards the car immediately. “Alright, nevermind.” 

Dany scrolls through what seems to be _thousands_ of questions that his followers sent him since he’d posted this morning, making note of good ones to answer. She glances over at Jon briefly, more out of habit than any real reasoning, but her mouth goes dry when she sees him by the back of the car, curls damp and loose like he’d just washed them, shirtless as he rifles through a bag for a change of clothing. 

His back is to her, but still— fucking _hells._ The muscles in his back, the way they flex when he raises his arms over his head to pull a new shirt on… it’s enough to make _her_ consider facing Margaery’s wrath for missing this Q&A, just so she can go pull that shirt _back_ off him, study his broad shoulders and tapered waist, run her fingers over the corded muscles of his arms before discovering what the _rest_ of him looks like without clothes. 

 _Down, girl,_ her brain snaps, remembering that she’s here for a reason, and it’s not to ogle Jon, as much as that is a bonus. They have work to do first. And then maybe after… 

Jon turns back towards her, and Dany startles at being caught staring, schooling her expression into something more neutral. “Is this okay?” he asks, and she nods, not sure she can trust her voice to come out evenly right now. He pulls his hair back as he walks back to where their chairs are set up, Ghost bounding over to him and leaning up against his legs once he’s seated. 

“Alright,” he says, and he looks _so_ uncomfortable that she can’t help but smile, all-consuming thoughts of what she’d like to do to Jon without his clothes on leaving her mind momentarily. “Let’s get this over with.” 

“You look like I’m about to torture you,” she says, and he glares at her darkly. 

“I fuckin’ hate being on camera,” he grumbles. Immediately she softens, patting his arm sympathetically, trying not to dwell on the feeling of the hard muscle she’d just been ogling beneath her palm.

“I know,” she says. “Just… pretend you’re only talking to me. Ignore the camera, and just speak like it’s only us. And any questions you don’t want to answer, just tell me, and I’ll pick another one.” 

He exhales, meeting her eyes. “Alright.” 

She scrolls through the questions, trying to pick an easy one to start. “Okay,” she says, selecting one to answer, opening up his stories to film the reply. “Here’s a good one. Camping equipment essentials, especially for people starting out who don’t have anything?” 

Jon thinks for a moment, before nodding his head. “Got it,” he tells her, and she nods. 

“Remember,” she says, positioning the camera so both him and Ghost are in the frame, Jon’s dog resting his head in his lap contently while Jon scratches at his ears absentmindedly. She wonders if that’s more for his comfort or Ghost’s. “It’s just me.” 

She gives him a nod, and he meets her eyes, beginning to speak while she records him. He heaves a sigh of relief after she signals that she’s done, having captured all the essential gear he’d briefly run through. “That was great,” she tells him, trying to be encouraging, but Jon just makes a face at her, like he doesn’t believe her. 

“Truly?” he asks. “Because I feel fuckin’ stupid.”

“No, really,” she insists, and she hopes he realizes that she truly means it. That she’s not just trying to make him feel better. “You sound so knowledgeable about everything, and you’re giving helpful advice. It was perfect, honestly.” 

He still doesn’t look like he entirely believes her, but they continue on anyways. 

Dany selects more questions for him to answer, recording and posting his answers to all of them— best places to hike for beginners, how to find dog-friendly trails, advice on properly training and caring for big dogs like Ghost. She gets lost in listening to him talk— after a few questions, his discomfort seems to fade, and the way he speaks about everything, his passion for exploring the outdoors with Ghost so obvious in his words… it pulls her in completely, captivating her as she listens to him speak. 

His eyes stay trained on her the entire time, not on the camera at all, but Margaery will have to cut her losses there. 

“They’re beautiful animals, of course,” Jon says, answering a question about people interested in adopting a wolf dog. “But they require a lot more work. Before you even start lookin’ for rescues that have wolf dogs, make sure you’re prepared for what owning one would mean. They’re not the type of dogs you can leave alone in your house all day. They have a lot of energy, and a prey drive, and they often don’t get on with other animals, or sometimes children. They need exercise, and attention, and lots of extra care that normal dogs don’t. If you can’t give them that, you shouldn’t adopt one. It’s just not fair to them.” 

Just as Jon finishes speaking, Ghost stands up from his place at his feet, shoving his head into Jon’s lap, demanding pets. Jon happily obliges, Dany capturing the moment in her video for his story. She gives him the thumbs up to let him know she’s done recording, Jon ruffling Ghost’s ears affectionately as he exhales in relief. 

“How many more of these?” he asks, and the desperation in his eyes is almost enough to make her laugh. He looks like he’s being _tortured_ instead of talking about hiking while she records him. 

“Just one or two more,” she promises, scrolling through the questions again, finding one she likes. “This one’s a little more personal,” Dany adds. “They want to know why you started hiking.” She glances up at Jon, trying to gauge his reaction. “Is that alright? We can do a different one if you’d like. I just think it might be nice for your followers to get to know a little bit more about you.” 

Jon looks down at Ghost, head still laid in his lap, tongue lolling happily as Jon runs his fingers through his thick fur. “Aye, I suppose that’s alright,” he concedes. “I can keep it brief, right?” 

“Of course,” she says. “Don’t talk about anything you don’t want to. And if you change your mind, just let me know.” 

“Alright,” he says, and she holds up his phone again, giving him a nod as she starts recording. “I’d hiked a lot when I was younger, with my family,” he says. “But I fell out of it until I adopted Ghost. Especially as a puppy, I wanted to make sure he was gettin’ all the exercise he needed, so I began takin’ him on smaller hikes. And then from there, I sort of remembered how much I’d loved it before.” He pauses, smiling down at Ghost, and it makes her heart quicken, chest practically aching with the abundance of affection she holds there for this man. “After that we started hikin’ more, and goin’ for longer trips. Ghost loves it just as much. And I think it’s a nice reminder, too. Even when the world seems to be fallin’ to shit and everything’s hopeless, there’s still beauty out there in some places. It’s good sometimes, to get away and remember that.” 

Dany’s so enthralled that she almost forgets to stop the camera, caught up in the soft shine of his eyes as he looks at his dog, the way Ghost puts his paws on his legs to reach up and lick Jon’s face. It’s adorable to watch them together, to see how much they clearly mean to one another. And when Jon turns to face her again, eyes still alight, that little smile tugging at his lips— well, that makes her heart flutter for an entirely _different_ reason. 

“Perfect,” Dany confirms before he can even ask. “One more, alright?” 

She scrolls through the hundreds and hundreds of questions again, skimming over them to find a good one. But one of them catches her eye for an entirely different reason— it mentions _her._

“Oh, gods,” Dany murmurs, laughing to herself as she reads it. “Someone wants to know, and I quote, ‘who’s that blonde woman who’s in all your posts now?’” She looks up at Jon, barely able to contain her giggles. His smile is just as bright, shrugging apologetically. 

“Should I answer and say she’s my babysitter on this trip, because I still don’t know how to work my own bloody account?” 

Dany laughs, but there’s a sinking feeling in her chest at his words— that niggling fear that that’s _all_ she’s here for. She’s here to check up on his social media, make sure he’s doing everything correctly and meeting all of Margaery’s tasks. And of course she’s told him how she feels, and knows his feelings in return, but part of her wonders if this really _is_ just a business trip. If there’s nothing more to it than she was the only available option to come along. 

“I don’t actually have to answer that one, right?” Jon asks, and she meets his gaze again, shaking her head. “Good,” he says, shoulders sagging a bit. “Because I don’t think I could explain what you are to me in one video. Nor would I want to,” he says, looking down. “It’s no one else’s business.” 

They both fall silent for a moment, Dany’s heart quickening at his words, pushing away her silly fears. “Dany,” he says, breaking the silence, and she hums in acknowledgement. His eyes blaze as they find hers, filled with something that she can’t quite identify. 

“I know you’re here to help with my account, mainly,” he says, voice quiet. “But truly— I’m glad you came with us. All work aside. I’m glad we get to do this together.” 

She melts at that, any last trace of fear disappearing like smoke. “I am too,” she says. “I was scared about leaving work, but being here… it’s worth it.” Jon smiles at her, eyes crinkling, and she knows that he understands what she really means. _Being here with_ you _is worth it._

Something stirs in her chest at the look on his face— something she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Something that almost feels like love. 

“Alright,” Dany says, eyes dropping back to Jon’s phone in her hand. Admitting her feelings out loud had been scary enough. Even considering the possibility of love is too much for her to think about now. “One _real_ last question.” 

She skims through them all again, trying to find a good one to end with. But then a new notification pops up, someone having just submitted a new response. 

 _Jon are you single?? Because I am and I love dogs just as much as you do._ Trailed by a series of winking and kissy face emojis. 

Something ugly rears its head in the pit of her stomach, jealousy clawing at her insides and making her vision go red. _No, he’s not,_ she wants to respond. _He’s mine. Go find someone else online to come onto._

It occurs to her then that’s he’s _not_ hers. Not really. They’ve talked about how they feel, and she’s told him how much he means to her, but… since the hospital, they haven’t really discussed anything. Dany knows that Jon’s waiting for her cue, for her to let him know she’s ready. And while committing herself to another relationship after so many years of avoiding them like her life depended on it is a terrifying thought, the thought of not being with Jon is even scarier. There’s a yearning in her heart for him, to be with him. A pull so strong that she can’t possibly ignore it. 

She wants for him to be hers. For everyone to know it— for his answer to his followers who ask who she is to be “my girlfriend.” For people who see them walking down the street together to assume they are a couple. She wants to give herself to him, for him to be hers just as much as she is his. 

The message disappears from her mind, thunderstruck by the certainty of her realization. The years of fear are gone, and all she’s left with is how much she wants to be with Jon. 

“Dany, you alright?” he asks, and she looks up from the phone, eyes still wide. And judging by his expression, the fond shine in his eyes as he meets her gaze, she thinks that he wants all that just as much as she does. 

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “Sorry.” She looks back down at the phone, relief washing through her when she sees another good question, right at the top. 

“Okay,” she laughs, and Jon’s lips quirk up, making her heart thump. “Someone wants to know what’s the most badly-behaved thing Ghost has ever done.” 

“Oh, easy,” he says, smiling. Ghost perks up at his name, Jon patting him fondly, as Dany hits record. “I’ll say, though, it was almost completely Grenn’s own fault.” 

***

Waking up early has long been ingrained in Jon’s system— it’s a habit from the Night’s Watch he never truly managed to break. He’s used to rising with the sun, starting his day while the rest of the world still sleeps. 

Still, even this is a _tad_ early for him. 

Ghost grumbles unhappily when his alarm goes off at 4:30, rolling over to hog even more of Jon’s sleeping bag. “Stop it,” Jon says, shoving his dog back so he can sit up. Ghost growls, but Jon flicks on the battery powered light by his pillow, giving Ghost a stern look.

“Enough of that,” he says, and Ghost whines, flopping down so his head is in Jon’s lap. “I know it’s early, boy,” he adds, scratching Ghost’s ears. “This’ll be worth it, trust me.” 

He gets dressed for the day in the dark, lacing up his hiking boots and shoving Ghost’s leash in his pocket as he locks the car back up, before his eyes flit to Dany’s tent. The sky is still inky blue, the hints of early morning light yet to appear on the horizon. Which is perfect, he thinks, making his way over to her tent, stopping in front of it, hand raised as if he’s about to knock. 

This part he hadn’t exactly thought out. He doesn’t want to just barge into her tent like he does with Arya, when necessary, but how else is he supposed to wake her up? 

Gently, he unzips the flap, heart thumping in his chest as his eyes adjust to the dark and he takes her in. She’s cuddled up in her sleeping bag, hair spilled messily across her pillow, face completely serene in sleep. 

“Dany,” he whispers, and her brow furrows, her body curling in closer on itself, pulling the blankets tighter around her. He can’t help but smile at the way she burrows her face into her pillow— sleep rumpled Dany is simply too adorable. 

“Dany, wake up,” he repeats, a little louder this time. She mumbles something intelligible, though Jon thinks its sounds suspiciously like “stop it, Drogon.” 

“Dany,” he says, Ghost appearing at his side, whining when Jon grabs his collar to hold him back. As much as he needs her to wake up, he doesn’t want Ghost jumping on her to be the reason she’s roused from her slumber.

Finally, her eyes crack open, a sliver of silvery blue visible even in the darkness, her face scrunched up in confusion. “Jon?” she says, voice sticky with sleep. “Wha’s goin’ on?” 

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he says, grimacing, and she sits up a little more, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “I know it’s early. But there’s somethin’ I want to show you.” 

She yawns, glancing at the digital watch next to her pillow. “And you had to show me this something at four-forty five in the morning?” she asks. 

“Unfortunately,” he says. “Get dressed, alright? This is sort of time sensitive.” 

“Fine,” she says, scrubbing at her eyes. “But I may have to wake you up early tomorrow out of revenge.” 

Ten minutes later, Dany reemerges dressed for the day, her hair tied back in a simple braid. “This better be good, Jon Snow,” she says with an arched eyebrow, tying the laces on her boot hastily. “Where are we off to?” 

“You’ll see,” he says, taking her hand, whistling for Ghost to follow them, and leading her up into the mountains. 

It’s not a long hike, which is good, because it takes twice the time in the darkness, double checking all their footings with the help of the flashlights they’d brought along. They reach the ridge after half an hour, the entirety of the mountain range sprawling before them from their lookout point. 

“Alright,” Dany says, crossing her arms. She’d gotten cold halfway here, so he’d offered her his sweatshirt, and it swallows her whole now, sleeves cuffed back a few times so that her hands aren’t covered. He tries not to be _too_ distracted by how pleasing it is, seeing her in his clothes. 

“So what exactly am I looking for?” she asks, but he just smiles, leading her over to the cliff’s edge. They both sit, Ghost sprawling out at Dany’s side, letting her absentmindedly run her fingers through his fur. 

“Just watch,” Jon tells her, nodding towards the horizon. The sky is just beginning to lighten, the inky blue of night chased away by a rim of faded orange. 

Her jaw drops, turning towards him with a teasing smirk on her face, but her eyes are so soft, brimming with affection. “Jon, did you bring me up here to see the sunrise?” she asks, and he chuckles, nodding in defeat at being caught. “You really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” 

Jon reaches over, taking her hand in his, heart humming with pleasure at the way she immediately winds her fingers with his. “It’s beautiful, watchin’ the sun rise in the mountains,” he says, the sky growing lighter even as they speak, a golden haze appearing behind the silhouette of the other mountains, making it look like they’re glowing. “You do all this work savin’ the world. I thought you should get to appreciate some of the beauty of it you never get to see in that office.” 

Her mouth falls open into a little o, and for a moment, Jon is nervous he’s gone too far. He knows how defensive she is of her job— and it’s incredible work she’s doing, nothing she should feel guilty of. But as long as she’s here, he thought she should get to see the benefits of her hard work to protect the planet. Though he fears now with his habit of messing up words, he’s gone and offended her on only the second day of this trip. 

But then she smiles, warmer than the sunlight beginning to fall across the mountains, and squeezes his hand tightly. “Thank you,” she whispers, and Jon just nods, a lump in his throat from the look in her eyes as she studies him. 

Dany rests her head on his shoulder, scooting closer to him so their twined hands are practically in his lap, and together, they watch the sun rise over the Red Mountains. 

***

According to Margaery’s schedule, today Jon is taking over the Tyrell instagram account, keeping them up to date on their adventures— no Q&A’s, no takeovers, no going live. Jon’s still not looking forward to having to do that later in the week. Right now, he’s trying to pretend it isn’t happening, and that hopefully Dany will just forget about it. 

He knows the chances of that are slim, but. He can dream. 

Lucky for him, Dany volunteers to basically run his takeover, just getting his okay before she posts stories or pictures to the Tyrell account. As he watches her snap a picture of Ghost halfway through their hike, he almost laughs at how willingly he surrendered his social media account to her. Months ago, that would have been his worst nightmare, letting a corporate head dictate exactly what he posts. But now… well. Now he knows Dany. And she knows him. He trusts her not to use his platform for anything against his wishes, 

Jon does take a picture of Ghost at the top of the peak they climb to today for a normal post, Dany also snapping one of him and his dog for the Tyrell takeover. The moment they get back to the car, he hands his phone over, letting her post the photos wherever necessary while he starts setting up their campsite for the night. The little campground they’re at is completely empty now, their car the only one left in the clearing. 

“Is it always this empty?” Dany says, adding wood to the fire she’d just started. Jon shakes his head, continuing to haul out food from the fridge in the car. 

“No, generally not,” he says. “In the summer these campgrounds will be packed. But not a lot of people hike these mountains in the wintertime.” 

He busies himself with preparing their dinners, mixing all of Ghost’s vitamins and supplements into the meat in his bowl as well so that his dog can eat. He’s surprised that Ghost hasn’t already started begging for his dinner— generally by this time he won’t leave Jon’s side if he hasn’t been fed, acting like he’s on the brink of starvation— but then Jon looks over to where Dany’s sitting, his heart melting as he sees Ghost sprawled out across her lap, tail wagging happily as she rubs his belly. 

Ghost is friendly— friendlier than most wolf dogs, that’s for damn sure— but even so, Jon’s never seen him warm up to someone so quickly. Even with Pyp and Grenn and Edd, and Sam when he used to live with them, it took nearly a year for Ghost to be as comfortable with them as he is with Dany now. Jon smiles, watching Dany coo at his dog, the way Ghost’s eyes slide shut happily as he basks in her attention. 

“Ghost, are you smotherin’ Dany?” Jon says, coming over to the fire and putting his bowl down next to the water he’d already set out, Ghost immediately rolling back over and licking Dany’s cheek sloppily before rushing to his supper. 

“Not at all,” Dany insists, patting his side as he eats. “He’s such a sweetheart.” She grins at him secretively, eyes twinkling. “You know, I’ve always been more of a cat person, but he’s certainly stolen my heart.” 

Jon smiles, wondering if the fact that she’s certainly stolen his has anything to do with the way Ghost has taken to her. 

Dany helps him cook their dinner over the fire— foil packet meals of potatoes and onions mixed together, with a beef patty on top and cream of mushroom soup poured over it all. “That smells delicious,” Dany hums, hovering at his elbow, Ghost nudging at his other side. 

Ghost begs at their feet while they eat, just like he always does. “Y’know, you’re really not settin’ a good example of how well behaved you usually are,” Jon tells his dog, giving him a bite of hamburger anyways. Ghost sighs, resting his head on Jon’s knee still, blinking up at him with big, doleful eyes. 

“Well behaved when it comes to anything but food, it seems,” Dany says, smiling at Ghost as he turns his attention to her. “I’m afraid you’re not getting any of this, boy. It’s all mine.” 

They clean the dishes and pack them back away, Jon taking advantage of the water pump to refill their canisters of water they’d brought for showering and cleaning. “Jon,” Dany calls, just as he’s finished topping them off. 

“Mm?” he says, walking over to her side. She’s still by the fire, but her eyes are trained on the horizon, wind pulling at the loose curls of hair that have snuck out of her braids. 

“Look at those dark clouds,” she says, nodding towards the sprawling mountain range in front of them. Sure enough, storm clouds are gathering, blotting out the brilliant colors of sunset. 

“Mm,” he says. “Well, it is winter, so I guess it’s not out of the ordinary. I don’t see any lightning, so we should be okay.” 

“We should?” she asks, looking up at him. “It’s still alright to be outside?” 

“Aye, it looks far away,” he tells her. “We might get some rain. If it starts to sound like thunder and lightning, we can sleep in the car, just to be safe, but it doesn’t look like a thunderstorm to me.” 

Dany nods, but he notices her shiver, crossing her arms. “Will the tents be alright if it does rain?” she asks, and he nods. 

“Aye, they’re both waterproof.” But that doesn’t seem to ease her fears, her eyes still fixed on the horizon, the way the clouds have erased the brilliant colors of the sunset. 

“Dany,” he says, taking a step closer to her, running a hand over her shoulder. He's still not quite sure what they are, but… after everything they’d said at the hospital, he figures he’s allowed to touch her now that they’ve set the record straight about what’s between them. She startles a little at his touch before turning to face him, relief creeping into her eyes, and he just wants to wrap her up in his arms, never let her go. 

“There’s nothin’ to be afraid of,” he promises, and her brow furrows, mouth set in a hard line. 

“I’m not afraid,” she says defiantly, and his heart thumps, reminded of their very first meeting, when she’d refused to back down and met his gaze with fire in her own. But then she softens, a hand reaching up to take his, tangle their fingers together. 

“I’ve just never slept outside during a storm before,” she admits, voice smaller. He smiles, giving in and pulling her into his arms, heart thumping when she goes willingly. 

Gods, it just feels so _right_ to hold her close like this. Her head fits perfectly into the crook of his neck, her hands resting on his shoulders as he inhales, heart beating underneath her ear. 

“D’you want to sleep in my tent with us?” he asks, realizing a moment too late what that sounds like, Dany going still in his arms. “There’s room for both our sleeping bags,” he hastens to add, trying to make it clear he doesn't expect it like _that._ “And Ghost is a great space heater, if you’re cold.” 

She peers up at him, eyes darker than midnight in the light from the fire. “You don't mind?” she asks, and Jon shakes his head. 

“Course not. Sometimes it’s easier to fall asleep durin’ that if someone else is next to you. Arya generally shares with me if we ever get caught in storms too. I’m used to it.” 

Inwardly, he cringes, realizing he’s now compared her to his bloody sister. Gods be good, maybe his flatmates are right, and he really _does_ have no game. 

But Dany smiles at him sweetly, rising on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek, and the butterflies that erupt in his chest make him think that perhaps he’s better off than he supposed. 

He helps her drag all of her things from the car to his tent, her own still broken down and packed in the back. Jon tries not to let it go to his head, the way her sleeping bag looks right next to his. 

He’s also a bloody fool if he thinks he’ll be able to sleep a wink with Daenerys that close to him. 

The storm reaches them later in the night, the soft rain that had begun to fall earlier turning to a torrential downpour, beating steadily on the nylon of the tent. Dany rolls over, pulling her blankets up higher around her, and even in the almost black, he can see the shine reflected in her eyes, letting him know she’s awake as well. 

“Can’t sleep?” Jon asks, and Dany startles, eyes flying up to meet his. She’s nervous, he can tell. Whether from the weather or from being in the same tent as him, he's not sure. 

“Not at all,” she admits, rolling over to face him fully. Her hair shines like silver in the dark, pulling him in like a moth to a flame. “Can you?” 

“Not really, no,” he says. She hums, chewing on her lip contemplatively, eyes flitting back up to the roof of the tent. 

“I’m not sure I ever truly understood how loud rain was before,” she says, pulling her blanket up higher around her shoulders. 

Jon fumbles for the battery-powered light he has somewhere, switching it on and bathing the tent in a soft glow. Ghost grumbles at his feet, the only one of the three of them who was actually sleeping. 

“I know,” he says, and Dany shifts again, sitting up and wrapping her blanket around her tighter. “I’d never realized, either, till the first time I went camping in a storm. It sounds so much louder when you’re outside.” 

“Mmm,” she hums, leaning forward, resting her arms on her knees. Her hair falls around her like a curtain of silver as she tilts her head, meeting his gaze again. 

“You know, I was born during an awful storm,” she tells him, and Jon sits up too, inching closer to her. “Thunder, lightning, wind, all of it. It was the worst they’d ever seen on Dragonstone. My mother almost couldn’t get to the hospital; the roads were all closed.” 

“Stormborn,” Jon says, thinking of her instagram username. He’d always wondered what the moniker meant. “Is that where that comes from?” 

She nods, smiling at him a little. “My mother used to say it was fitting. When I wanted something, she always said that trying to stop me was like resisting the force of a hurricane.” 

Jon chuckles. “Aye, I can see how that’s true.”

“What about you?” she says, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “Do you have any nicknames?” 

Jon’s brow furrows, considering. “Er, I don’t think I do,” he finally says. “Well, Tormund calls me his little crow, actually.” 

Her face scrunches up adorably. “Why crow?” 

“I used to wear all black, when I was north of the wall,” he answers, and she laughs. “And he’d tease me for it. He won’t stop it now; it’s been too long.” 

She grins, resting her chin on her arms. “See, this is what people should have been asking you yesterday. Questions like this.” 

“What, things about me?” he says, chuckling. “I’m glad they didn’t.” 

“Why?” she asks, brow furrowing. He wants to reach over and smooth it out for her, run his fingers over her soft skin. 

He shrugs. “I dunno. It’s Ghost’s account, not mine. I’m happy to tell people about hikin’, give advice when I can, and I’m glad Ghost’s account makes people happy, but… I’ve never particularly liked the concept of social media for myself. I don’t need two million strangers knowin’ everything about me.” He meets her eye again, heart leaping into his throat at the amount of fond affection in hers. It still blows him away, that Dany can care for him as much as he does for her. 

“Besides,” he adds, smiling apologetically. “People follow for him, not me.” 

Silence falls over them, the only sounds the pattering of rain and Ghost’s quiet snores. “Well, not everyone,” she finally says, voice quiet. When her gaze meets his again, her eyes are molten. 

“What would you ask, then?” he says, creeping closer to her. She unwinds one of her hands from around her, bracing it on the edge of her sleeping bag, so close their fingertips brush. 

“I don’t know,” she says. “Everything. Anything you want to tell me.” 

Gods, he doesn’t think he’s ever loved her more than he does now, staring at her as she shyly meets his eyes, begging to know everything that makes him who he is. 

“Ask away,” Jon says, smiling a little. “As long as you don’t record my answers.” 

She returns his grin, corners of her mouth ticking up, and he can’t resist her pull anymore, creeping closer and tangling their fingers together. 

“What’s your favorite color?” she finally asks, and he can’t help it, he barks out a loud laugh. Ghost grumbles, raising his head from his paws to glare at Jon for waking him. 

“Blue,” he tells her. “Dark, dusty blue, like the sky just before night falls.” Though, he thinks, the exact shade of her eyes is creeping up there as well. “What about you?” 

“Hmm,” she says, considering. “Red, I think.” Her head tilts to the side, and she bites her lip in contemplation, and _gods,_ she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “What’s your favorite place you’ve ever been?” 

 _Right here, with you,_ a part of him wants to say automatically. But he tries to truly think about it, consider his answer. 

“I think… those waterfalls, up North,” he finally answers. “I know that’s probably stupid— I’ve been so many places, and that’s twenty minutes from Winterfell. But that was one of the first places I ever camped. I have a lot of good memories of that place.” Like the image of Dany, snow in her hair and nose red from the cold, her eyes lit up and the widest smile upon her face as she’d pelted him with a snowball. As she’d told him that they could stay a thousand years there, hide away from all the horrors of the world together. 

“What’s yours?” Jon asks, mostly to keep himself from confessing his love to her right then and there. She smiles at him again, and she looks so beautiful, so _happy,_ that it makes it even harder to keep the words to himself. 

“It’s hard to pick,” she admits. “There are so many parts of Essos I loved. I went to Naath with Missandei one summer, and it was breathtaking. But…” she hesitates, glancing up at him through her lashes. “I think up north, where we went to see the Northern Lights.” Jon’s breath catches, her voice lowering to almost a whisper. “I would go back and relive that night every day if I could.” 

His heart is stuck somewhere in his throat, blinking at her in wonder as she presses her lips together. And _gods,_ he wants to kiss her, wants to pull her into his arms and tell her he loves her and then roll them onto his sleeping bag and worship her until she screams his name. He wants to fall asleep with her tucked into his side, wants to wake up and have the first thing he sees be her face. He wants her for the rest of forever, to just _be_ with her, love her, and have her love him as well. 

But he’d promised himself— he’s going to wait. He wants her to make the first move, for her to be ready for this. So instead, he squeezes her hand, hoping she can tell how dear she is to him just from the way he looks at her. 

They continue on, Dany asking him questions, Jon happily obliging her, generally countering with one of his own. He’s not sure how much time passes, the rain continuing to fall, the two of them laying back down at some point, hands still tangled together. 

“You’re joking,” Dany says, laughing at him incredulously. “You didn’t really do that, did you?” 

“Aye, we did,” he assures her. “We scared the shit out of poor Sansa.” 

“I would imagine anyone would have been scared, walking into a _crypt_ and having someone pretending to be a ghost jump out at you,” she defends. “How did you even get enough flour to cover yourself from head to toe?” 

“Arya stole it from the kitchen,” he says. “I was washin’ it out of my hair for days. Catelyn was beyond pissed.” Dany’s body shakes with silent laughter, her eyes fond as they meet his in the low light of the lantern. 

“You never pulled pranks like that on your siblings?” he asks, and something shifts in her expression, sadness creeping in. He squeezes her hand, playing with her fingers as she shrugs. 

“Not really,” she says. “They were so much older than me, Rhaegar especially. He was already in university when I was born. Viserys is closer to my age, so we would play when we were younger, but even then…” she trails off, but a smile creeps across her face. “We used to pretend to ride dragons, running around on the cliffs by the sea. It would give my mother heart attacks.” 

 _“Ride_ dragons?” Jon asks, a grin tugging at his lips as well. “Not slay them?” 

“Of course not,” she says, affronted. “The brave people didn’t _kill_ dragons, Jon. They rode them.” 

“Well, if you say it’s so, then I believe you,” he tells her, and her responding smile is enough to send his heart into overdrive. 

“I think the storm’s let up,” Dany says a moment later, and sure enough, the sound of the rain pelting the tent has faded, only a soft pattering against the nylon still audible. 

“It’s probably late,” Jon says, regrettably. He would stay up and talk to Dany all night in a heartbeat. “We should get some sleep. We have a big hike tomorrow.” 

“Mm,” Dany says, snuggling into her nest of blankets, her smile adorably sleepy. “When my legs give out halfway through, I expect you to carry me back down the mountain.” 

His heart quickens, the idea of holding Dany in his arms for any extended period of time absurdly pleasing. 

“Deal,” he promises her, and she smiles, reaching for the light between them and switching it off. 

“Goodnight, Jon.” 

“‘Night, Dany.” 

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, but he must have, because when he wakes the rain is gone, the first lights of dawn beginning to seep into the tent. Groggily, he blinks, surroundings coming into view. 

Ghost is still still sprawled out at his feet. And next to him, Dany is curled up in her sleeping bag, blanket pulled to her chin, her expression relaxed and peaceful. He watches her eyes flutter beneath closed lids, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, moonglow hair spread across her pillow like a halo. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his life, that he knows beyond a doubt. 

He could get used to waking up like this, he thinks, closing his eyes again and letting the sound of Dany’s breathing lull him back to sleep. 

***

When Dany wakes up the next morning, the first thing she sees is Jon. 

Her heart jolts, instantly feeling much more awake than usual. But then she remembers the storm, and why she’s in his tent, and her initial, instinctual panic disappears. 

Sighing, she relaxes, laying her head back down on her pillow. Jon is still asleep, the morning sun growing brighter, golden light falling across his face. 

He looks so peaceful in sleep. She watches him inhale and exhale rhythmically, one arm slung over his blankets, fingers curled loosely into a fist. She’s seen him clench that same hand when he’s stressed, or angry, or on edge, tendons in his arm flexing and jaw set in a hard line. But now… now there isn’t an ounce of tension in him. His eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones, mouth falling open just a bit as he sighs, those perfect, plush lips taunting her. 

It’s truly unfair how handsome he is. 

He mutters something, brows scrunching together as he shifts in his sleep, and an abundance of affection comes over Dany, her heart squeezing, filled to the brim with tenderness. This trip so far, all this time she’s spent so close to Jon… she had been so nervous going in. So sure that she would still be too terrified to do this. But waking up next to him, his face being the first thing that she sees…

Dany wants that for as long as she can have it. 

It’s strange to think about the future and want someone to be a part of it. After Drogo, the thought of being alone forever made her _relieved._ If she never let another man into her heart, there would never be the possibility of feeling that sort of pain and betrayal again. And now here she is, her dreams filled with the feeling of Jon’s hand in hers, the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne, the warmth of having his arms wrapped around her and the fire that floods her veins when his lips move against hers. 

She’s still scared, of course. It’s hard not to be, after letting fear rule her life for so long. But she thinks Missandei might just be right. That of course it’s a risk, but getting to be with Jon in the end… that might be worth it all. 

She trusts Jon. She cares for him _so_ much that it hurts. She wants to be with him.

All there’s left to do now is jump. 

She’s so caught up in her thoughts that she almost screams when Ghost wakes up, yawning hugely. She’d forgotten the dog was there, still curled up at Jon’s feet. He lifts his head, ears perking up when he notices she’s awake as well. 

“Hi, sweet,” she murmurs as Ghost crawls closer to her, tail thumping against Jon’s legs. “You scared me for a moment there.”  His owner groans, eyes squeezing tightly closed as his dog continues to assault him with his tail in his quest to get to Dany. 

“Ghost, what the fuck is your problem,” Jon mumbles, voice thick with sleep, and _gods,_ the sound of it does something to her, his northern accent even thicker when he’s barely awake. Want floods her belly, hot as flames, and half of her has the mind to push Ghost out of the way, crawl on top of Jon and have her way with him. Based on all the furtive glances she’s seen him cast her way so far this week, she doesn’t think he would protest. 

Ghost ignores Jon, whining as he noses at Dany’s hand, begging for pets. She giggles, scratching behind his ears, the way his eyes slide shut in pleasure and his tail wags faster doing something different to her heart. But then she looks over to Jon, the way he’s watching the two of them with such fondness in his eyes, his dark curls rumpled from sleep, and that hunger comes back. 

Her stomach growls, and Dany feels her cheeks go scarlet. Apparently, she’s _actually_ hungry as well. 

Jon makes them a big breakfast, because today is the longest of all the hikes. The most intensive, too— they won’t have service all day, deep in the mountains, so Ghost’s followers won’t be able to check up on their progress like they have the past few days. 

Something about that feels significant. Like for the first time this week, they’ll be _truly_ alone, even if they’ve been the only people on this trail for the past few days. 

“You have to tell your followers,” Dany says, finishing off her omelet. It was surprisingly good, for being cooked over a campfire. Jon probably has a potential career as a personal camping chef, once this sponsorship is over. 

“Tell them what?” Jon asks, picking up his dog’s bowl. Ghost had _quail_ for breakfast this morning, apparently. He truly does eat better than any human she knows. 

“That you won’t be able to check in on social media today,” she says, taking her dishes to the back of the car so she can wash them. “Friday you did a Q&A, yesterday you took over Tyrell’s instagram story… they’re going to wonder where you are.” 

Jon sighs, dipping his head, but she can see the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “Ghost, why did you have to go and get so famous?” he asks his dog, Ghost just wagging his tail, head tilting in confusion as he studies his owner. 

“Well, it can’t be all that bad,” she jokes. “I mean, without Ghost’s fame, you never would have met me.” 

It’s a simple enough joke, but something about it still makes her heart pound, nervous from the serious undertone of wanting to be _wanted_ that hides in her words. 

But then Jon looks up at her, smiling, and she realizes she never should have been afraid in the first place. 

“Aye, that’s true,” he says. “I suppose it’s worth it, then.” 

They get dressed and pack up camp, Jon conceding and posting to let his followers know they’ll be offline until tomorrow morning, shaking his head as he does so. “I thought I might get to have _one_ day without any bloody social media,” he says, sounding adorably woeful. 

Dany pats his shoulder, hand tingling at the feeling of his warm skin and firm muscle beneath her palm. “Well, now you don’t have to go online at all for the rest of the day,” she says. “It’ll be just us and nature.” She says it without thinking, really, but Jon looks at her slowly, his gaze intense, and her heart speeds up, the air between them sparkling with electricity. He feels it too, this heightened connection that being truly cut off from the world brings with it. 

But then Ghost wedges his way in between them, tail wagging eagerly, and the tension shatters. 

“And Ghost,” Jon says with a chuckle, patting his dog’s head. 

“Of course,” Dany agrees. “And Ghost.” But when Jon looks up and meets her eyes again, some of that heat still lingers, her blood running hot in a way that has nothing to do with the morning sun. 

They drive until they reach a new spot— this one is nestled in the middle of all the mountains, a steep canyon pass extending from the campsite and cutting through two of the mountains, red walls of rock rising so high into the sky that she can barely see the top. “We’re going to climb that?” Dany asks, nodding towards the trail skeptically. 

“Aye,” Jon says, the two of them climbing out of the car. “It’s a difficult trail, but it’s beautiful. Lots of stone arches and caverns. And then it eventually goes all the way up, and we’ll end up on top of the ridge.” He smiles, letting Ghost out of the back, grabbing their packs and handing Dany hers. “Ready to climb a mountain?” 

It’s not bad at first— and Jon’s right, it is beautiful. Massive walls of red stone rise frame the path, arches blocking out the sun momentarily as they continue their ascent. But even still, Jon’s stamina is higher than hers, and soon her lungs start to ache, leg muscles growing fatigued. 

“Are we there yet?” she jokes, and Jon laughs. She knows this is the longest hike of them all, and they’ve barely even started. 

He stops, whistling for Ghost to come back to them, taking a moment to breathe. “Is this alright?” Jon asks, genuine concern painted across his face as he looks at her. “I know it’s a difficult hike, and it’s been a while for you.” 

“I’m okay,” she assures him, taking advantage of their pause to drink from her water bottle. “You’re right, it’s tough, but… it feels good,” she says, nodding decisively. Because it does. Even with her lungs burning and her calves protesting, it feels nice to push her body like this again, to work hard in order to get to experience the beauty nature offers. “I’m exhausted, but it feels worth it. I know I won’t mind the hard work when we get to the top.” 

“That sounds like somethin’ you’d say about your job,” Jon muses, flashing her a little smile before leaning over to give Ghost water as well. Dany shrugs, mulling it over. It does, now that he says it. 

“I suppose so,” she agrees. “I’ve always been like that, I think. I don’t mind putting in the hard work if I know it’ll be worth it in the end.” She pauses. “Maybe that’s why I’ve always liked hiking too.” 

“Well, I can promise, this view will be worth it,” Jon says. “But tell me if you need to take a break, aye? I know you’re still gettin’ used to this again.” 

The soft smile he gives her makes her heart flutter, butterflies filling her stomach like she’s some silly maid. “Alright,” she agrees. “Though I might still have to have you carry me down the mountain.” 

Jon laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners a little bit, and _gods,_ she doesn’t think she’ll ever become accustomed to the amount of affection in his gaze when he looks at her like that. 

“I can think of worse things,” he says, and the low, throaty sound of his voice sends a thrill through her for an entirely _different_ reason. 

She’s trapped in his eyes, unable to look away, and his are molten as he stares back at her. There’s a shift in the air between them, that joking tone from before vanished, a sharp tension taking its place. Jon swallows, not saying a thing, but desire is evident in his expression, from the way his eyes darken and take her in, to the way his jaw clenches as she leans closer. His hands flex at his side, like he has to physically restrain himself from reaching out to touch her. 

Desire seizes hold of her, and that’s all _she_ wants too, for him to close the distance between them and touch her. For him to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless and then a thousand other things. She wants to give in to this, run her fingers through his curls, discover what it feels like to have his bare skin slide against her own. 

But even as her heart pounds in her chest, that fear of the unknown seeps back in. As much as she’s tried to banish it, it won’t truly go away. So Dany looks down, breaking their eye contact, the tension of the moment fading. 

They continue the journey, the ascent becoming steeper, the walls of rock surrounding them becoming shorter. But the closer they get to the top, the more excited she grows, even as her muscles scream and her breath comes in pants. They come to a particularly steep part of the path,  slanted planes of rock leaning against each other in a way that practically looks like it would require rock climbing to scale. Ghost scurries up the rocky incline before them with ease, tail wagging as he turns to face them from the top, watching Jon survey the steep grade of the path. 

“Er, let me go first, alright?” he says, turning to Dany. “Then you’ll know where to step. And I can give you a hand up, if you need it.” 

She nods, watching Jon’s movements so that she can mimic them after. The way he moves is slow and methodical, choosing the best places to gain purchase as he climbs up. But then he leans over to brace his hand against the rock, and her stomach drops, Jon’s absolutely _perfect_ arse gratuitously displayed by the motion. 

It’s really unfair that he looks _so_ attractive in hiking clothes. Somehow his pants make his arse look even better than jeans usually do, like it was carved by the gods themselves. His bicep flexes as he shifts his weight to his hand, and… is his shirt tighter than it was earlier? She can see the planes of his broad shoulders through the material, his arm muscles straining against the sleeves. 

Her fantasies from earlier return, but stronger this time. She’d like to rip that too-small shirt off of him, explore all that muscle with just her bare hands. And perhaps her tongue as well. 

Jon reaches the top then, her daydreams put on pause as she carefully ascends the wall of rock. Jon offers her a hand once she’s close enough to the top, helping pull her up so she’s standing next to him at the top, the path stretching on in front of them much more level. 

“Thanks,” she says, hoping that her breathlessness can be passed off as exertion, and not because of the way she can’t keep her eyes off of him. 

As they continue the hike, Dany can’t help but let those thoughts permeate her mind, the fact that Jon is right in front of her looking rugged and strong and _delectable_ not helping in the slightest. The dream she’d had in her office comes back to her, her hazy fantasies from the night of the gala as well, and _gods,_ she wants him to touch her like that for real. Discover if that quiet strength beneath the surface of Jon Snow really does come out when he’s worshipping her body. 

She tries to snap herself out of it, but then she turns and catches Jon staring at her, his gaze as full of longing and desire as hers is, and there’s nothing that can be done, her blood running hotter, heart pounding.

Seven hells, if they keep up this secretive wanton glances thing, Dany’s not sure they’ll actually make it to the top of the mountain. 

They do, eventually, a few hours and several bottles of water later. Jon takes her hand and helps her up the last steep incline, and then they’re there, and it feels like the entire world is spread out before them. 

“Wow,” Dany says, eyes wide as she takes it all in. It feels like she’s living in the pages of the Tyrell catalogue— like the view before her is too beautiful to possibly be real. The mountains sprawl for miles, faded blue sky going on forever, the soft light of afternoon leaving the peaks sunkissed and golden, warming the red stone of the endless mountains. 

“This is the tallest peak on this side of the mountain range,” Jon says, leading her over to the summit’s edge, Ghost at their heels. They sit on the rocky ledge that overlooks the mountains below, and Dany closes her eyes, lets the warm breeze wash over her face as sunlight spills across the ridge. 

“This is… maybe the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispers, opening her eyes again, trying to soak it all in. When she looks out at the horizon like this, ignores the ground beneath her right now, it almost feels like she’s flying, exhilaration flooding her, making her heart hum contently. This, _this_ is what she’s been missing, all these years. Dany loves her job, and she knows in many ways, after Drogo, work was her salvation. But it’s also been keeping her from _this._

“Jon, I…” she doesn’t know how to form the words, only that they need to be said. Turning to him, she finds he’s already looking at her, his eyes soft, as warm and golden as the sunlight washing over the mountains. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, seizing his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Thank you for taking me with you on this trip. Thank you for… showing me how much I need this in my life.” 

He glances down at their clasped hands and tangled fingers, a little smile pulling at his lips, before his gaze comes back up to meet hers. The amount of emotion in them stuns her. Because for a second, she’s certain that the look in his eyes is love. 

And strangely, it doesn’t scare her anymore. 

 _Are you still afraid?_ She’s been wondering that since this trip started. But seeing that possibility in Jon’s eyes, thinking of… _feeling_ that for someone again, of having someone else feel that way for _her—_ it doesn’t terrify her the way it used to. Of course she’s scared. But it’s like Missandei had said, she can’t let that fear rule her. Anything new is _always_ scary. But with Jon, she thinks maybe it’s all worth it. 

Maybe it’s not about being unafraid. Maybe it’s just about… being brave enough to do it anyway, and then eventually realizing there was no reason to be scared in the first place. 

“So it was worth it?” Jon asks, lips twitching further up. “The climb up?” 

She laughs, but in her heart, she can’t help thinking about something else. How letting go, giving in to this thing between her and Jon, letting herself truly be with someone— maybe that’s worth the hard work, the fear, the uncertainty. Giving her heart to him is scary, but in the end… she believes it would be worth it. 

Dany leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand covering his thigh as she tucks herself into his side. His solid warmth beneath her cheek is the realest thing she’s felt in years. 

“Yes,” she whispers, eyes still on the horizon, and the way Jon holds her close feels like hope. “Definitely worth it.” 

***

The moment they return to camp, Ghost flops down on the ground, tongue lolling as he pants, eyes sliding shut. 

Jon can’t help but agree. 

It was a difficult hike, but a _good_ one. Sometimes he needs that reminder— the burning of his lungs, the screaming of his muscles, the pounding of his heart— just to remember he’s really here, he’s really alive. It chases the demons away much more effectively than just trying to shut them out. 

“Seven hells,” Dany says, hands braced on her hips, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. Jon’s sure he looks equally as exhausted; he can feel the perspiration dripping down his neck. “I would kill a man for a hot shower right now.” 

Jon swallows, trying not to think too explicitly of Dany in the shower. He fails spectacularly in that sense. 

“Well, no hot shower, but we have enough water if you want to wash up,” he offers up. She meets his eyes, and that heat from earlier is back, the way she looks at him going straight to his groin. 

He can’t possibly just be imagining this, can he? She’s clearly trying to torture him. It’s like the bloody gala all over again. 

“That’s probably a good idea,” she says, nodding. “You sure we have enough water?” 

“Aye, I refilled the containers the other day, when there was water at the campsite. You’re fine.” 

She doesn’t argue much past that, fishing around in the back of the car for her things. Jon busies himself with preparing dinner, because if he just stands here and tries not to think about Dany stripping naked on the other side of the car, nothing good will happen. 

Making dinner keeps him occupied, shooing Ghost away from the food even more so. Dany emerges a little bit later, in new clothes and with her hair down from the braided knot on top of her head it had been up in all day, loose waves falling down her back. She looks so much softer with her hair completely down, less like the professional businesswoman she always has to be— like this she seems younger, more carefree. He loves to see her look so relaxed, so at ease. Especially around him. 

Dany finishes the cooking so that he can wash up as well, cleaning off the sweat and grime of the hike as best he can, running a wet hand through his curls in an attempt to tame them. They eat dinner in comfortable silence, though Jon can’t help but notice the tension that still hangs in the air from earlier. This entire day has felt like a test of both their self restraints, seeing how far they can go before they reach their breaking point and just give in. The thought makes his heart pound, body electrified with anticipation, this feeling that they’re hurtling towards the inevitable faster than they possibly can control. 

A part of him can’t help but think that’s what’s supposed to happen. They’ve come this far, broken down all these walls. And gods above, he wants her. 

Based on the way she’s been looking at him all day, Jon feels fairly certain that she wants him too. 

Dany finishes her dinner, putting the plate aside and raising her hands over her head, arching her back as she stretches. Her t shirt rides up with the movement, Jon’s eyes tracking the smooth tease of skin it reveals, wanting nothing more than to pull her into his lap and see if her skin feels as velvety as he remembers. 

She turns to look at him, and Jon realizes too late he’s been caught. But she doesn’t seem to mind, her gaze just as heated as she meets his eyes, the blue of them darker in the dusky glow of twilight. 

His heart pounds in his chest, watching her watch him. The electricity in the air is palpable; shivers run up and down his spine, and instinctively, without even giving it any thought, his eyes fall down to her lips, just for a moment. 

Dany’s knee nudges his, and what had seemed like a respectable distance between them during dinner now seems both all too close and impossibly far. Jon’s never wanted to pull someone into his arms so badly; he needs to hold her, to worship her, to map out every inch of her body with his hands, commit every detail of it to memory. 

He wants to kiss her so, _so_ badly, make sure his memories of how sweet she tastes are true. He can feel his resolve crumbling with every second that passes, the pull of her too much to resist. And based on the heat of her gaze, the way her eyes hungrily take him in, he thinks she feels the same. 

And yet, he had made himself a vow. He isn’t going to push her, and he isn’t going to be the first to make the move. This is _her,_ her trauma she’s overcoming, her past she needs to work through. She has to be the one. And he’d meant it when he said he’d wait as long as she needed, but seven bleeding hells… 

Gods, all he wants is for her to just take that leap, so that he can fall as well. 

 _Trust me, love,_ he wants to say. _Just trust me. I promise I’ll catch you._

“Jon,” she whispers, and her voice is low, almost broken. Like she’s battling inside her head as well, trying to resist the inevitable pull that’s bringing them together, stronger than the tide. His name upon her lips sends a bolt of heat through him, blood rushing to his groin, and he swallows, never breaking eye contact. 

“Aye,” he says, and his voice sounds just as guttural. 

It seems as if all other traces of the world have disappeared; the birdcalls that had sounded during dinner go silent, the rustle of the breeze gone. All that’s left in the world is Dany and Jon. 

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her own eyes falling to his lips, and that’s all it takes. 

He meets Dany half way, hands seizing her waist as her lips hungrily crash against his, kissing him desperately. Jon’s immeasurably glad he sort of washed his hair as her hands come up to cup his face, tangling in the loose curls at the nape of his neck as she kisses him. 

He could live a thousand years, travel the entire world, enjoy every pleasure in life, and he still doesn’t think a single thing would hold a candle to kissing Daenerys Targaryen. Her tongue slides against his as he drinks in her taste, and it _is_ just as sweet as he remembered, even in his post-gala drunken haze. Desperately, his fingers tangle in her hair, kissing her back with just as much fervor, trying to show her that he has her and he’s never letting go. She could hand her heart over right now and Jon would spend the rest of his life protecting and cherishing it. 

She shifts closer to him, his arms locking around her like a vise, and she sighs into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that makes him groan. Before he can really register what she’s doing, she’s straddling his lap, knees on either sides of his waist, and fucking _hells,_ the heat of her body pressed so close to him is enough to end him right then and there. She presses her chest into his, melting in his arms, and one of Jon’s hands slips from her hair, tracing her curves greedily, hands molding over soft flesh. She grinds up against him ever so slightly, smiling playfully against his mouth as he kisses her again, and _fuck_ it makes him want her even more. Makes him want to see her do that again, more deliberately, with no clothing on. 

“Mmm,” she hums, as his mouth leaves hers, tracing a path from her jaw to her collarbone. The loose neck of her t shirt moves easily, and his other hand comes up to palm her breast, blood roaring in his ears at the way she moans breathily at his touch. Her hips rock against his again, her hand gripping his shoulder tightly, as if the thought of being physically separated from him is too much to bear. 

He knows for him, it is. 

But still. He wants to make sure. Doesn’t want her to do anything that she could regret later. 

“Dany,” he says, looking up at her through his lashes, his other hand heavy on the small of her back. “This is alright? You want this?”

“Gods, yes,” she exhales, and the beast in Jon’s stomach roars in triumph, heart pounding in his chest as his body floods with another rush of desire. “I’ve been wanting you to kiss me like this since this trip began.” 

“Mm,” he murmurs, ducking his head to press a lingering kiss to her cleavage. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?” 

“I was scared,” she admits, voice barely a whisper. Jon sobers for a moment, heart still racing in his chest, pulling away a bit to meet her eyes. He can hardly see the blue in the purplish light of dusk, drowned out completely by how wide her pupils are. “But I’m not scared anymore.” She pauses, looking down, biting at her lip. “Well, I am,” she says. “But not of you. And not enough to keep myself from being with you.” 

He smiles a bit, heart feeling like it could burst with how much he cares for her. How much he loves her. She’s everything in this world he never let himself dream of finding, right here in front of him like it’s the only place she belongs. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, a hand coming up to cup her cheek, leaning in to kiss her sweetly, slowly this time. 

Her lips move against his leisurely, like they have all the time in the world. And maybe they do— that’s all Jon hopes for. Her fingers roam down his chest as the kiss speeds up, gains more heat, her tongue meeting his again as she drinks in his taste. 

He can feel her fingertips drag along the planes of his muscles, setting his body alight. All he wants is to get lost in her kiss, forget about everything else in the world, live only in the sensation of kissing her. But then her hand finds the edge of his shirt, moving as if she’s about to bunch it up, pull it off of him, and the past comes creeping back in. 

He pulls away, panting as he breaks the kiss, her eyes still squeezed shut as their foreheads rest against each other. 

“Dany.” 

His hand catches her wrist gently, and she freezes, eyes blinking open, wide as they find his. Her fingers still hover over the hem of his shirt, and Jon holds his breath, the pounding of his heart only half because of the way Dany had just been kissing him. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, so quiet he can barely hear her, and he shakes his head, exhaling sharply. He can see the hesitation in her eyes, and he curses himself for pausing, for putting that hint of fear back in her. Jon doesn’t ever want her to feel like she has to be afraid. 

No, this time it’s him that’s afraid. It’s stupid, and superficial, probably. They’re just scars. He shouldn’t be so hung up on them— should listen to whatever bullshit Arya and Sansa and Robb spout about them making him stronger. Proving he survived. But that’s not what he thinks. Every time he sees them, he just feels like more of a failure. And he doesn’t want Dany to see them and think the same thing. He doesn’t want her to think he would fail _her._

Because really, that’s what scares him most. It’s taken years to get back to the place he is now; it’s taken meeting Dany to truly believe he might be alright. He loves her and he wants her and the thought of losing her is terrifying to him. What if she sees the marks on his chest and realizes how _truly_ damaged he is? What if she decides that trusting someone who’s been through everything he’s endured with her heart isn’t a good idea after all? 

It’s one thing to tell her about what happened at the Wall. It’s another thing entirely for her to see the grotesque proof for herself. 

But then her other hand rises to his face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone slowly and soothingly. “Hey,” she whispers, blue eyes so filled with concern that it almost breaks his heart. Gods, he cares for her _so_ much. And she had bared her soul, told him about all the awful things in her past she had endured, and trusted that afterwards he would still be there. As terrifying as it is, he has to trust Dany to do the same. 

“Sorry,” he returns, eyes sliding shut at her touch. She leans in closer to him, and he can smell the now-faint scent of her shampoo, feel her breath fan over his cheeks. 

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” she says, and his eyes flutter open, finding hers again. As vast and deep as the ocean, Jon thinks he could happily get lost in them forever. “We don’t have to do this if—” 

“No,” Jon says, the determination of his voice making her smile just a little. “It’s not that.”  Gods dammit, he’s wanted her for _so_ long, and now that she wants him too, no fear or reservations or anything there to dissuade them, he’ll be damned if he lets this opportunity pass. 

“It’s just… I have scars,” he says, even though she sort of already knows. Her mouth forms an o, understanding dawning over her, like she’d forgotten about it till just then. 

“It’s not pretty, Dany,” he finally adds, not sure how else to say it, words failing him once again. Her eyes grow impossibly softer, and then she’s leaning in again, capturing his lips with hers in a sweet, wonderful kiss. He strokes his tongue against hers, letting himself get lost in how she tastes, as her fingers drift back to the bottom of his shirt. 

“I don’t care,” she promises, nose nudging against his as she pulls away. “As long as this is alright with you, I mean.” 

Jon’s not sure he has the words, so instead he just nods, before he can let fear change his mind. 

His heart hammers at the feeling of her fingertips against his abdominals, bunching the hem of his shirt in her hands and slowly lifting it off of him. He’s half stuck between wanting to squeeze his eyes shut as he lifts his arms and watching her with rapt attention, desperate to gauge her reaction. 

Her eyes widen as she finally gets the garment off of him, dropping it to the ground next to them. Jon feels as if he can hardly breathe, watching her eyes roam over his marred torso, one hand delicately coming up to trace the ridge over his heart. 

“How could they do this to you?” she murmurs, expression stricken. He doesn't know what to say, just tightens his hold on her waist, letting the warmth of her skin beneath his palms ground him. 

He won’t go back there now. Not here, not when he’s with her. He won’t let the past steal his future from him any longer. 

“How many other people have seen them?” she asks. Her voice is quiet as her eyes come back up to meet his. The look in them is unreadable to him. 

“My siblings, mainly,” Jon admits. “I think Edd. He was there when it happened. I… make sure to keep them hidden, most of the time.” 

Her hand flattens over his heart, covering the scar that should have ended his life. “Thank you,” she whispers, and her eyes slide closed as she ducks closer to him, rests her forehead against his. “Thank you for trusting me.” 

He wants to tell her right then. He wants to finally tell her that he loves her. 

But she’s not ready to hear that yet, so he keeps his mouth shut, nodding a little bit instead. “Thank _you,”_ he whispers, and Dany’s brow furrows in confusion. 

“What for?” she asks, fingers still tracing across the ridge of his scar, and Jon exhales shakily, tucking a curl behind her ear. How can he possibly explain to her all she’s done for him in a mere matter of months, without trying at all? How can he convey that she’s the reason he has hope at all, that her presence in his life has brought him back to a person he almost recognizes? That she’s the one who has made him want to fight for a happy ending for himself, even now after everything he’s suffered? 

He doesn’t have faith in his ability to form pretty words, so there’s no way he could convey all of that without coming off as remarkably lovesick and desperate. But a part of him still wants her to _know,_ to know how important she is to him, even if he can’t tell her he loves her yet. 

His heart desperately clings to that _yet,_ hoping someday she will want to hear those words from him. 

“Just, thank you for trustin’ me as well,” he says. “With you. Thank you for seein’ someone better in me than I do.” 

She pulls away a little, eyes blazing with determination. “One day, I’m going to make you see yourself as I do,” she vows. “Because you’re the best man I’ve ever known.” 

“Alright,” Jon agrees, smiling a little at her as his heart leaps into his throat. She grins, leaning in close to him again, hands leaving his chest. 

“But first,” she whispers, and the low, sultry sound of her voice sends a jolt through him, heat rushing right to his groin. She looks up at him through her lashes, reaching for the hem of her own shirt and tugging it off.  

The sight of her straddled across his lap in just her sheer, lacy bra is enough to make his mind go blank, carnal desires overriding every other functioning thought. He leans in closer to her, hands hesitantly sliding up her sides until his thumbs brush the underside of her breasts, heart racing in his chest. 

“Have you been wearing this _hiking?”_ he manages to get out, not exactly thinking; he cringes internally at how _that’s_ his first reaction to seeing her half naked. But Dany laughs sweetly, leaning in close, teeth scraping his earlobe. 

“No,” she says, and it causes a shiver to run down his spine. “This is just for you.” 

And with that, any semblance of self control he may have had snaps. 

Jon turns his head, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss, Dany humming contently as he coaxes her mouth open, commits her taste to memory. He lets his hands wander over her skin as hers do the same; her nails scrape lightly down his back before she shifts closer forward, rising on her knees so she’s hovering above him, breasts pushing up against his chest as she sinks her fingers into his hair, undoing the tie holding back his curls. 

He groans at the sensation of having her so close, hot skin pressed against his, his heart racing so fast that he’s sure Dany can hear it. His hands roam down to cover her arse, squeezing the plump flesh, dragging her closer to him as she gasps into his mouth. 

It’s as if all his senses are heightened, every nerve in his body alight, overwhelmed with feeling. Jon knows it’s been a while since he’s felt a fraction of what this is, but still—  he can’t recall one single moment in his life in which he’d ever felt so _much,_ all at once. 

Probably because he’s never loved anyone the way he loves Dany. Of that, he’s certain. 

“Jon,” she whimpers as they pull away from another desperate kiss, gasping for air. Dany’s chest heaves, her pupils so wide that he can hardly see the blue of her eyes, cheeks flushed. He’s sure he looks similarly disheveled. 

“Mm,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her as his tongue explores her mouth. She sinks back down to his lap, grinding into him, and he bites back a strangled groan as his hands splay across her back. 

 _“Fuck,_ I need you so badly,” she says, pushing her body even closer to his, and it’s like the best form of torture, having her pressed up against him with nothing between them. He needs her too, _desperately,_ but he’s been dreaming of this moment for so long that rushing through it hungrily seems like a crime. She deserves to be worshipped, and Jon intends to do just that. 

He forces himself away from her lips, tracing down the arch of her neck with his mouth, sucking greedily at the base of it, probably hard enough to leave a mark. An animalistic part of him revels in the idea, ridiculously pleased with the thought of anyone being able to see proof that she’s his. As he’s hers. For as long as she wants him. 

Dany shivers as he turns to her chest, trailing kisses across her collarbone and to her sternum. She arches into him as his lips graze the swell of her cleavage, hands spreading across her back to keep her close as her head tips back, eyes squeezed closed in pleasure. One of his hands drifts up to the clasp of her bra, fiddling with it until he feels it uncatch, the lacy material going slack. 

He glances up at her, heart hammering in his chest, and gods, the way she manages to take his breath away just by _being_ still astounds him.

“Is there any chance other hikers would be on this trail?” she asks, voice high and breathy, her arms still locked around his neck. 

“At this time of year, not really,” he answers, and his voice sounds just as strained. “In the summer there would be others, but—” 

“Thank the gods it’s not the summer then,” Dany says, moving her arms and shrugging out of her bra, letting it drop to the ground. 

Time momentarily freezes, Jon stunned speechless at the sight of her. She blinks at him, watching him watch her, and for all her confidence, Jon can see that flash of fear behind her eyes again, his heart desperately crying out for him to banish it. 

“Fucking hells, Dany,” he whispers, and she smiles, that uncertainty disappearing like smoke. He runs a hand around to her front to gather one of her breasts in his hand, kneading it between his fingers as her mouth falls open in a silent cry. He’s hard as a rock now, his cock straining uncomfortably against his pants, the friction of her hips moving against his doing little to relieve the tension. 

Her fingers card through his hair as he brings his lips to her other breast, drawing a rosy peak into his mouth and worshipping her like he’s only done in his dreams. Her skin smells so sweet, fingers tugging at his curls to urge him on, Jon making sure his attentions are evenly distributed as she squirms under his mouth, moaning with pleasure.  

He could kiss her all day, map her entire body with his mouth and tongue and be perfectly content. He wants to know every curve, every line, commit it all to memory. His hands slide down her back, palming her arse as she shifts closer to him, fingernails raking down his chest. Jon pulls back, glancing up at her through his lashes, the sight of her leaving him breathless. 

“Gods, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, completely captivated by her; his heart thumps at the delicate shade of pink that spreads across her cheeks to match the flush of her chest, the reverent shine in her eyes as they meet his. She leans down to kiss him again, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, making a shudder run through his body. 

“So are you,” she murmurs into his mouth. “Unfairly, distractingly handsome, that is.” She closes her eyes, pressing her forehead to his, and it’s such a tender gesture that his heart leaps in his chest, caught somewhere in his throat. “Do you know for how long you had me confused about what was in my heart, just because of the way you would look at me? Like I was the only one you could see?” 

“Most of the time you are,” he admits, voice strained, but it’s not for the same reasons as before. She smiles, hands squeezing his shoulders, pressing her body impossibly closer.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” she whispers, and it sounds like she’s asking herself more than him. 

“I dunno,” Jon admits. “But I often wonder the same thing about myself.” 

She smiles again, small and private, leaning into him. Jon holds her close, not sure where he ends and she begins, hearts so twined that he doesn’t think they’ll ever be able to untangle them. 

“Dany,” he says, voice so hushed that it’s almost a whisper, and she hums into his skin, pulling back just a bit to meet his gaze. “D’you want to go inside?” 

For just a moment, all that fiery confidence is gone, only the two of them stripped bare before each other remaining. Dany bites her lip, exhaling shakily as she nods her head, and the certainty in her eyes makes his heart thump. 

Unable to resist, he leans in again, captures her lips in a kiss that’s much slower, much sweeter than their hungry, desperate exchanges of before. All the pining, all the waiting and hoping and dreaming that’s taken up every inch of space in his mind for the past months— all of it is worth it, to have this moment here with her. 

Dany wraps her arms around his neck, pressing herself close to him, kissing him back just as reverently. His heart quickens, gathering her up and standing, her legs wrapping around his waist as he walks them back to his tent, only tearing his lips away from hers to check his footing on the uneven ground. 

As he lays her down inside, his body hovering above hers, he’s suddenly _absurdly_ glad that all those months ago, Dany had pressured him into asking for a new sleeping bag _and_ one of the ridiculously comfortable inflatable camping mattresses Tyrell makes. 

That thought is quickly pushed from his mind as they both kick off their shoes, Dany’s fingers sliding down his chest and fumbling with the zipper of his pants. “You first,” he whispers in her ear, nipping at the lobe, and a shiver runs through her body, Jon easing down her body and tugging her pants down her legs. His heart stutters when he sees what she’s left in— those damn red lace panties she’d been wearing the night of the gala. 

“You’re tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me, aren’t you,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her stomach, the muscles jumping at his touch. 

“Never,” she says with a smirk, fingers sinking into his curls. Her nails rake against his scalp, and he groans, heat shooting straight to his groin, his mind fogging with desire.

Gods, if she keeps this up, he is _not_ going to last long. 

Dany seems to be just as on edge as he is, squirming at the slightest touch from him, so receptive to the way his hands move over her. His fingers hook in the edges of her underwear, and she moans breathily, lifting her arse so he can tug them down. 

His mind short circuits again, seeing her completely bare. Realizing how wet she already is for him. 

“Jon,” she says, her voice high pitched and acutely needy. “Gods, I need…” But she doesn’t have to finish her sentence, because he already knows. Slowly, deliberately, he slides a hand across her thigh, her eyes fluttering closed as his fingers slide lower, lower, parting her folds. A groan escapes his mouth at the sensation of her slick pleasure on his digits; he teases her entrance, tracing kisses across her clavicle again before slipping a finger inside her, both of them shuddering at the feeling. 

His dick is _not_ happy with him for it, straining painfully against his pants, wishing it was the one buried inside her addictive heat. 

“Is that what you need?” he teases, nipping at the base of her neck, and Dany gasps, his finger crooking just so inside her. He takes his time, cataloguing all the things that she likes, committing the feel of her body to memory. 

If he could, he’d spend all of eternity learning every inch of her. 

 _“Qogralbar nyke,”_ she hisses, and seven hells, Jon has _no_ idea what she just said, but it’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever heard in his life. He slips another finger inside of her, blood roaring in his ears, the feeling of her clenching around his hand all too much. “I need more,” she moans. “I need _you.”_

Gods be good, he needs her too, but he still wants to make her come first. 

She whines when he withdraws his fingers, but her disappointment is short lived as he kisses his way down her body, breathing in her sweet scent, tasting her skin. She shivers when he comes to the juncture between her thighs, head coming up, blinking at him as he nudges her legs out of the way. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, almost dazed, and for a moment Jon forgets the tidal wave of lust building in his chest, heart thumping with affection at how adorably taken aback she looks. 

“What d’you think?” he asks, kissing the inside of her thigh. She blushes, and Jon wonders dimly how seldom her useless ex boyfriends actually did this to her. Or if they ever did in the first place. 

“It’s alright,” Dany says, chest rising and falling rapidly. “You don’t have to—” 

If he had any hesitation at all, any doubt that maybe _she_ was uncomfortable with this, that she didn’t want him to do this, he would back off. But he can see that dark glimmer of selfish want in her eyes, can tell by the way her pupils have fattened just watching him that she most certainly _does_ want him to taste her, even if she’s acting like she doesn’t care. 

So Jon shakes his head, cutting her off. 

“Shh,” he hushes, settling between her legs. “I’ve been dreamin’ of findin’ out what you taste like for months now.” 

Dany’s head drops back against his pillow, a low whine sounding from the back of her throat, and that’s all the invitation he needs, finally bringing his mouth to her. 

Gods, fantasies don’t even _begin_ to do her justice. She tastes sweeter than the best Dornish wine, the heat of her against his tongue otherworldly, the sounds she makes as he licks and sucks enough to drive him mad, his cock twitching in jealousy. When he circles her clit with his tongue, the moan she lets out almost makes him come on the spot. 

Her thighs clench around his head, one of her hands burying itself in his hair, and Jon thinks this is possibly the best feeling in the world— being completely surrounded by Dany. 

He feasts until she shatters, savoring every sweet drop of her juices, licking her clean as she writhes beneath him. She’s boneless when he finishes, sliding back up her body to kiss her lips messily, letting her catch him in her arms and pull him tight. 

He nuzzles into her, never wanting to be parted from her again. 

“For someone who always says he’s shit with words, you have quite the clever tongue,” Dany says breathlessly, and he laughs, a hand drifting up to cup one of her breasts again, and he marvels at how perfectly they fit in his hands. Gods, he just can’t stop touching her, her satin skin addictive. Though she doesn’t seem to mind. 

Instead, she noses at his cheek, the gesture surprisingly sweet, making his heart feel close to bursting. “I’m going to need you to take your pants off _now,_ though,” she whispers, and Jon moans, her hand already reaching for its target, palming him through his jeans. She is going to be the fucking _death_ of him, of that he is certain. “Remind me why they’re even still on?”

“I dunno,” he says hotly, trying not to rut against her hand _too_ much. “Are you gonna do anythin’ about it?” 

She grins at him wickedly, shoving his shoulder so that they roll over, Dany hovering above him now. Jon gulps, his lust addled mind seizing on the predatory gleam of her eyes, desire clouding his every thought. “Oh, I plan on doing _many_ things about it,” she says, voice guttural, fingers tugging at his zipper. His hands fly down to help her, shucking off his pants and boxers hastily, kicking them aside before Dany straddles his thighs, seizing his length in her hands, running her fingers along his shaft. 

“Seven fucking hells,” he whispers hoarsely, eyes rolling backwards in his head. Months of daydreaming could never prepare him for _this._

He sits up, unable to stomach the distance between them, needing to feel her body pressed up against his once more. Jon never wants to part from her again, wants to spend the rest of his days tangled up in her, unsure where he stops and she begins. She releases his length, hands caging around his neck, pressing her forehead to his as she grinds against him, the heat of her center against his shaft making him see stars. Dany blinks, meeting his eyes, and something monumental passes between them, Jon leaning in to kiss her dazedly, drunk on the feeling of her. 

And then, like a bucket of ice water dumped onto his head, realization crashes over him. 

“Shit, Dany,” he says, suddenly freezing up. She can feel the shift in him, her grip on him relaxing. “I, uh. I don’t have any condoms.” 

Her eyes narrow at him, but there’s a glint of affection in the sea blue, warm as the sunlight that had washed over the mountains earlier. “You didn’t bring condoms?” she asks, still slightly breathless. 

“No,” he admits. “I didn’t think…” Even after the gala, everything that had happened back at her apartment, the talk they’d had at the hospital and all this unspoken _something_ that has been lingering between them ever since— he still hadn’t wanted to assume. “That seemed presumptuous.” 

“I went and packed my pretty underwear, and you were too noble to assume you’d need condoms,” she says, with a roll of her eyes. She’s teasing, though, he can tell, and she leans into him more, her breasts pressing against his chest as she rests her chin on his shoulder. 

“It’s alright,” she whispers to him, pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear, arms tightening around his neck, a hand burying in his mussed curls as she nuzzles into him. “I’m on birth control. And I’m… _good,_ as long as you are.” 

His heart squeezes, unable to process the rush of affection that floods his chest at her words, her voice warm and trusting. Her face is buried in his neck still, and she drops a sweet kiss to the skin of his shoulder, flushed from her touch. Jon detracts his hand from around her so that he can cup her face, pulling her back so he can look into her eyes. 

“Aye, I am,” he assures her. “But are you sure? It’s alright if you’re not. With what you told me at the hospital…” He breaks off, not wanting to remind her of her past. “But truly, Dany. Whatever you want.” 

She smiles softly, her fingers tracing over the scar above his heart. “Thank you,” she says, voice but a whisper. “Normally I wouldn’t, but…” she pauses, eyes finding his. “It’s _you,_ Jon. I trust you.” 

His heart thumps, lost in her eyes, in the amount of affection and confidence shining in them. He’s sure that his are the same. He doesn’t really know how to quantify the love he feels for Dany, the warmth in his chest so much stronger than anything he’s felt in a long, long time. It’s intoxicating and terrifying and comforting, all in one, the monumental nature of his feelings for her. And to know that after all she’d suffered, everything she’s guarded herself from for all these years, that she trusts him _that_ much— 

Maybe they truly are each others' salvations. 

He’s about one second away from responding with _“I love you,”_ so it’s a good thing Dany kisses him when she does, tongue seeking his as the sweet gesture grows more heated. His hands grasp desperately at her flesh as she rocks above him, fingers digging into her arse, the arch of her back, kissing her fiercely. 

One of his hands falls down to part her folds, stroke her little bud once again, his cock begging for her, and Dany exhales shakily, lining herself up and slowly sinking down onto him. 

His mind goes blank, stars dancing before his eyes, the only thing he’s capable of registering the feeling of her tight, wet heat around him. It’s the _best_ bloody feeling in the world, he’s sure of it. 

Dany moans when he’s fully seated inside her, moving a little to let herself adjust to the feeling of him filling her up, stretching her wide. He rises to meet her, hips thrusting shallowly against her own, and she _whines,_ eyes scrunched closed and perfect mouth dropping open at the feeling. 

 _“Sīr qogralbar sȳz,”_ she mumbles, nails digging into his shoulders as she rises, then sinks down again, faster this time. He tangles a hand in her silky hair as she picks up her pace, pulling her face towards him so he can kiss her messily. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” Jon says, voice hoarse. Her hands scrabble against his shoulders, pushing him back so he’s laying down again, arms braced on his chest as she rides him. “Fucking… _hells,_ Dany, I’m not going to last very long.” 

“Mm,” she moans, lips brushing his. “Neither am I.” 

 _Gods,_ she feels amazing, better than his wildest dreams could ever prepare him for. His hands roam her body again, squeezing a breast, gripping her waist, smoothing over her arse. She’s bloody perfect, every bit of her, from the way she moves above him to the sounds she makes as his hips rise to meet hers. 

She mewls as he rolls a nipple between his fingers, his other hand sneaking lower to circle her clit in firm, teasing strokes. He’s not sure how long he can hold out, but hell if he’s not going to try to make her come first. “Fuck, _Jon,”_ she gasps, rolling her hips, and he groans at the slight change of angle, mind fogging up with how fucking _fantastic_ she feels, hot and slick and so bloody tight. But he needs _more,_ want driving him mad, and his fingers dig into her flesh, rolling them over so he hovers above her. 

“Oh,” she gasps, eyes fluttering shut as he hitches up her leg, thrusting deeper into her. He smiles, nipping at the base of her neck, one of his hands tangling in her hair. 

“You like that?” he says, and his voice is so low it almost sounds like a growl, possessive and primal as a wolf. Dany just moans again, nails scraping down his back as her other leg wraps around his waist, bringing his body even closer.  

 _“Kessa, kostilus,”_ she whispers, meeting his thrusts eagerly. “Just like that.” 

He can feel his release building, the moment too much to process. Jon slows, hovering above her, cupping her cheek in his hand as he meets her eyes, almost reverently. Her pupils are fat and black with wanting, but beyond them, there’s something else— something so much deeper than desire.

It hits him again, looking into Dany’s eyes, both of them stripped bare before the other, all pretenses, defense mechanisms, walls of iron around their hearts tossed aside. He loves her. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, the reason he has hope once again. She showed him how to hope, how to dream, how to live once more. And the magnitude of what he feels for her is so all-encompassing, so completely overwhelming, and yet somehow it doesn’t terrify him in the slightest. Because beneath it all, Jon knows that this is it. No one in the world has ever made him feel the way she does. She’s the one he’ll spend the rest of his life loving. 

“Dany,” he whispers, voice softer this time, and she blinks up at him, lips parting ever so slightly. And for just a moment, he can see it, reflected back in her eyes. That dream of the rest of forever, spent just by her side— it’s right there.

He can’t take it anymore, head ducking to bring his lips to hers urgently. He kisses her desperately, savoring her taste, heart thumping at the way she kisses him back, the way she wraps her arms around him as he thrusts into her again, the way she seems to want to hold him as close as he does her. 

To be so wrapped up in her warmth, to feel her heart beating beneath her skin, to have her chest heaving with quickened breath the same as his is, her lips moving against his— it’s too much, vision beginning to whiten, stars dancing in his periphery. “Jon,” she gasps against his lips, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. _“Fuck,_ I’m so close…” 

He is too, but he tries to restrain himself, his hand untangling from her hair and sliding down her chest, over her belly, to find her clit. “C’mon, Dany,” he urges, voice practically a growl. “Come for me, love.” She whines as he circles her bud, the lewd noises of their coupling seeming to spur her on just as much as him, his thrusts speeding up. He brings his mouth to her neck, licking a path down her chest, her skin sparkling with sweat as he brings a rosy nipple into his mouth, circling it with his tongue the same way his fingers circle her clit. 

He’s barely hanging on by a thread, _so_ close to falling apart, but then Dany gasps, her channel clenching around him, back arching as she finds her release. Jon lets go, giving in to the pull, and he shudders as he spills into her, head dropping to her shoulder as stars dance before his eyes, entire body consumed by pleasure. 

When his vision clears, conscious thought once again capable of entering his mind, all he can recognize is the feeling of Dany pressed right up against him, his softening cock still buried inside her, one of her hands lazily coming up to play with his curls. He presses a kiss to her cheek, letting his lips linger there, not sure what else to do with the abundance of affection he feels for her, the warm, swooping feeling that’s taken up residency in his heart. 

Dany shifts under him, and Jon panics for a moment, realizing he’s still pinning her down, practically crushing her. He winces as he slips out of her, mourning the loss of her warmth already as he rolls over onto his back next to her. But Dany seems to have the same distaste for being separated, because she follows after him, tucking herself into his side and tangling their legs together. 

He turns to look at her, a hand coming to smooth her messy hair out of her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. She blinks shyly, smiling just a bit at the contact. 

“Hi,” she whispers, and Jon laughs, bringing his forehead to hers. It brings him back to that night under the northern lights, the very first time she’d ever kissed him, the shy, wondrous look in her eyes as they’d separated. 

“Hi,” he returns, and now she fully smiles, brighter than sunlight and moonlight mixed together, pressing herself closer so she can lean in and kiss him sweetly. 

“You know,” she whispers, her fingers tracing his jawline, dancing over his beard. “When I was packing for this trip, Missandei told me that I had to get over my fear, because I deserved the reward.” Jon stays silent, letting her speak, content to just watch the little smile that creeps across her face. “I know she didn’t mean it _quite_ so literally, but if this is my reward…” she chuckles, squeezing her eyes closed. “I’m glad I listened to her.” 

“Me too,” Jon says, playing with her mussed curls. _“Very_ glad.” 

She laughs at that, and the sound of her joy is contagious, the love he feels for her right now enough to break his heart. He leans in closer, a hand tipping her jaw towards him, kissing her leisurely as his heart races. Her lips part underneath his mouth, tongue sliding against his, sweet and slow. 

Gods, he could stay here wrapped up in her forever, the rest of the hike be damned. 

They bask in the quiet for a while, reveling in each other’s warmth, soaking in the hazy afterglow. “Dany,” he finally whispers, and she hums, shifting in his arms, lifting her head from where it had been nestled in the crook of his neck so that her eyes meet his. His fingers trace patterns on the side of her hip, her warm skin underneath his palm wonderfully grounding. 

“What language was that, that you were speakin’?” he asks. She blinks in surprise, like she’s considering. 

“Valyrian, probably,” she admits. “I learned to speak it first. I still sometimes slip into it, especially when my mind is _otherwise occupied.”_ She smiles wickedly with those last words, and gods, it’s been barely any time at all, but Jon already wants to have her again. 

“Why?” she asks, nudging her nose against his. “Did you like it?” 

Jon chuckles, pulling her in for a brief, hungry kiss. “I dunno, you might have to use it again later, see what you think,” he teases. She smiles at him, eyes already dark and predatory once again, like she too is already fantasizing of the different ways they can have their way with each other. 

But there will be time for that. Tonight, and hopefully for long afterwards. 

He kisses her again, sweeter this time, and Dany sighs contently into his mouth, nuzzling back into the crook of his neck when they pull apart. He tightens his arms around her, wanting nothing more than to just hold her for the rest of time, to be with her and feel her heart beating against his chest, perfectly in sync with his own. Like they’ve become so entwined that they’re not two separate pieces anymore, but halves of a whole. 

Jon exhales, thinking how six months ago, he never would have believed it would be possible to feel this happy. To have this much hope. And yes, they had to go through all seven hells to get here— baggage and confessions, past trauma and scars, both literal and figurative. Jon had to tear down Dany’s walls brick by brick, be patient enough that when he finally did break through, she wanted to invite him into her heart willingly. And she’s done the same for him, whether she knows it or not. 

He leans over again, pressing a kiss to her crown, eyes squeezing shut to try to freeze a snapshot of this moment in time, preserved forever in his mind. 

Whatever it took to get here, Jon doesn’t care. Being here with Dany now is worth it all.

***

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me at stilesssolo on tumblr and twitter ✌️


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